


Headcount

by Gh0stWr1ter



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drug-Induced Sex, F/M, Fluff, Fluffy flashbacks of past relationship, Gang Rape, M/M, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-29 08:45:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5122064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gh0stWr1ter/pseuds/Gh0stWr1ter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's only been a week since the Blue, Red and Silver Kings have united. JUNGLE is proving to be more of a problem than first anticipated, the KING is not the only one who can make quests...<br/>There's a new price-tag on JUNGLE for Yata Misaki, one requesting for videoing the rape of HOMRA's Vanguard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SERIES RE-EDITED (so it might be a good idea to read / glance over the chapters again)

 

“Yata, have you been reading JUNGLE’S newsfeed?” asked Kusanagi from behind the bar. Homra’s vanguard looked up from his custom PDA, shaking his head.

              “Nah, I never read it. I mean, I’ve already joined.” Admitted Yata, “What else do you want from me?”

Kusanagi sighed in exasperation, polishing his wine glass with a little more force than before.

              “The entire _point_ of me asking you to join was so you _read_ the notices and keep an insight into the group’s activities _before_ they act on it.”

Yata looked down at the floor, irritably.

              “That’s what you’re for, there’s no point in _both_ us wasting time on those stupid chats.” He muttered sulkily.

Kusanagi shook his head, biting back a remark about how Homra’s third in command should be a little more vigilant. Why Yata was so against technology and JUNGLE’s app in particular was beyond him. To be honest, he didn’t really feel like becoming a councillor to the teen who clearly housed repressed feelings towards the online messenger.

              “Yes, well we’re lucky at least _someone_ at Homra has enough common sense to follow up in these things.” Said Kusanagi a little more sharply than normal.

It had been more than a year since Mikoto’s death and the reformation of Homra with Anna as their new king. Only last week had the Silver, Red and Blue Kings vowed to make an alliance to keep the Green King under control. But despite things finally starting to look up, he still had trouble sleeping at night and the fatigue was starting to take its toll.

              “So what then?” prompted Yata, knowing Homra’s second in command wasn’t the type for small chat.

              “There’s a new price on your head.” Said Kusanagi lowly. Yata looked up with a spark of fire in his eyes.

              “Really? Ha, did they finally realised my true worth? Realised that I’m just as, if not _more_ important than that shitty monkey?” boasted Misaki, patting his chest in pride. Kusanagi simply scowled irritably at Yata’s childish behaviour. A frown in place of what would have normally been an amused smile at the vanguard’s antics.

              “Not that kind of reward,” snapped Kusanagi, “and it’s a bad thing if your worth goes up, the last thing we need is even more creeps trying to kill us.” Yata flinched at his tone, and Kusanagi felt a sudden wave of guilt and fatigue. “Sorry.” Apologised the older male. “I didn’t mean to shout.”

              “Don’t worry about it.” Assured Misaki, “we’re all feeling the pressure at the moment.” An awkward silence stretched between them, Kusanagi must have been really stressed for his composure to crack. The man had never really lost his temper for as long as Yata had known him… well aside from his overly protective behaviour concerning the English-imported bar.

              “There’s a reward for anyone willing to make a Gay video of you.” Murmured Kusanagi, finally set down the now, extremely well-polished wine glass.

              “Ha?!” exclaimed Yata, staring at Kusanagi incredulously. “G-gay what now?!” Kusanagi took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, he could already feel another headache coming along, and Yata’s loud voice wasn’t helping the matter.

              “It’s not only the King of JUNGLE who can create missions. Anyone can trade JUNGLE points, so people can make their own requests and set a price for it.” Explained the older man.

              “Y-yeah, whatever but, what’s this ‘Gay video-thing’, with _me_?” cried Yata, his face already a blushing mess. Kusanagi placed his glasses once more on the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath.

              “The point is, you’re not only wanted by the King as vanguard of Homra. Now there’s a price-tag on your head for someone to film you getting raped.” He spoke flatly. “Please, just be extra careful and take someone else with you wherever you go.”

              “Hell no am I gonna get a body guard!” cried Yata, “I’m Homra’s vanguard for Christ’s sake! Also, I’m a man! There’s no way I’m gonna get raped, just let ‘em try!” he vowed determinedly.

             “Yata.” Snapped Kusanagi. “Act your age for once and take on board some advice. The last thing we need is another tragedy! Try thinking about someone else for once, will you? If it makes you feel better, I’m partly asking for you to be extra cautious for Anna’s sake! She’s already got enough on her plate without needing to worry about you putting yourself in more danger than necessary.”

              “Ok, ok, got it.” Muttered Yata, glaring down at the floor once more. “I’m going for a walk.”   He announced suddenly, jumping to his feet.

              “Take Kamamoto with you.” Said Kusanagi quickly.

              “Yeah, yeah I heard ya.” Grumbled Misaki in reply, slouching as he walked up the stairs to call his friend.

 

* * *

 

              Yata wished, more than anything for it to be winter. Then Kamamoto would be fat, and wouldn’t be attracting attention left right and centre. He’d joked around with Homra before about how annoying it was for their fat friend to transform into a chick magnet in summer, but this was a different sort of annoyance. All he wanted was a calming stroll to cool his head, and try to understand the gravity of what Kusanagi had just told him. A simple wish, which was made insanely difficult walking next to his seasonal ‘God-send’ of a friend.

              “Yata-chan, do you wanna get a crepe?” asked Kamamoto, concern leaking into his voice.

              “I thought you didn’t have an appetite in Summer.” Said Yata gloomily.

              “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you need to stop eating.” Pointed out the tanned blonde.

              “Let’s just sit down in the park or something.” Decided the shorter male. Vaguely indicating towards the upcoming greenery. Kamamoto nodded enthusiastically, as if agreeing with whatever the vanguard proposed would boost his morale.

              “Kusanagi told you why I need to be baby sat?” stated Yata more than asked, as the two settled down on the closest empty park bench.

              “Y-yeah.” Stammered Kamamoto. “The Green clan’s full of creeps.” He said, shivering as if to shake away the unwanted thoughts.

              “Well, some people who use the app definitely are.” Agreed Yata, as he sighing heavily. “Do you know how many points the video is worth?” he asked, leaning back against the seat.

              “It’s hard to say.” Started Kamamoto. “There’s all sorts of requests, like one for capturing you, and one for actually… you know.”

Yata raised an eyebrow at his friend’s reluctance so say ‘rape’, just who was the virgin here?

              “There’s all sorts of extras too, like using bondage, o-or mobbing and stuff.” Continued the blonde awkwardly. “I’m not sure how many points are up for grabs, but the tasks can be split so that the people capturing you don’t actually play a part in… the video.”

              “Fuck!” swore Yata, feeling a sharp pain in the side of his neck as if something bit him.

              “Yata?” asked Kamamoto, watching worriedly as the red-haired male reached up to touch his neck. His fingers brushed something cylindrical, grabbing the object he pulled it from his flesh, wincing slightly.

              “What is this?” hissed Yata, looking down at the dart-like syringe in his hand. Kamamoto jumped to his feet, scanning the surrounding area to look for clues of the perpetrator.

              “Yata, I think we should get back to Homra.” whispered Kamamoto, his voice a little strained. He grabbed his friend’s wrist pulling him up, “Can you stand?” he asked concernedly. “We’ve got no idea what shit those ninjas put in that, it could be some kind of drug.”

              “Of course I can fucking walk.” Snapped Yata, as he swatted away his friend’s helping hand, quickly pushed himself off the seat.

              “I’m gonna call Kusanagi-san.” Informed Kamamoto, pulling out his PDA.

              “Don’t bother,” Said Yata dismissively, as he pushed his friend’s phone down “we’re just walking back anyway. It’s not like it’s gonna help if they know.” Kamamoto looked as though he wanted to complain, but decided getting back to Homra was a top priority, and if arguing over a phone call delayed that it wasn’t worth it.

              They’d gotten about two blocks away from the park by the time Yata felt his legs tremble.

              “Shit… Kamamoto…” gasped Yata, grasping his friend’s arm for support.

              “Yata!” exclaimed the blonde, desperately trying to hold the shorter male up as he pulled out his PDA. “Stay with me, ok? Try, try not to close your eyes!”

              Yata felt himself tremble even more, uncertain if it were more out of fear than the drug taking affect. He closed his eyes, despite Kamamoto’s warning, he just needed to world to stop spinning for a moment. Yata felt a heavy impact before the taller male slumped his entire weight onto the Vanguard.

              “Kamamoto?!” exclaimed Yata, struggling under his friend’s body. Rough hands grabbed from under his arm pits, pulling him out from under the blonde before his legs gave way entirely.

              “Take a little sleep for us, will ya princess?” chuckled a gruff voice in his ear. Yata’s scream was muffled from a damp cloth pushed onto his face, he felt numb and his vision blurred as he tried desperately to reach out to his friend bleeding on the pavement.

              The last thing he heard was laughter.

 

* * *

 

              Yata awoke feeling extremely dizzy and disoriented, vaguely aware of being rocked back and forwards.

              “Ah, shit is that a custom PDA? It’s calling.” Came a voice.

              “What? Yeah I thought it was strange he didn’t have one on him.” said another.

              “Well what’re ya dorks doing? Throw it out before they track him!” shouted a third. Yata weakly mumbled in protest as someone grabbed his wrist and yanked off the device.

              “What do I do now?” asked the first voice.

              “Chuck it out the window.” Said the third voice irritably.

              “What, while the car’s driving?” came the first’s sceptical voice.

              “Just do it dickhead, every second you keep it in here the chances of us getting tracked increases!” came an angry reply.

              Yata’s eyes widened in fear as one of the captors seemed to watch him closely from behind his black helmet.

              “Oi, the little princess’ woken up.” Came the man’s jeering voice. “Pass the chloroform will ya?” The man doused a white cloth in some liquid. “Can’t have ya wakin’ up early, right?” laughed the man, ignoring Yata’s weak whimpering as the sweet intoxicating vapours took hold of his senses once more.

 

LINE

              The next time he woke, Yata felt the cold hard weight of metal encasing his wrists. Bolting up quickly, he tried to move, only to discover shackles on his ankles as well. The chains bound his arms and legs to the bed, loose enough to move around, but not where near long enough to leave the mattress.

              Yata still felt slightly disoriented from whatever they used to knock him unconscious, making it hard to think clearly. He pressed the cold metal to his forehead, trying desperately to remember what had happened prior to waking up here.

              He sitting in the park with Kamamoto, and then… shit, Kamamoto was lying on the ground bleeding. His head was smashed in with something, was he ok? Fuck, why didn’t he listen to his friend, they should’ve called Kusanagi… what, what if Kamamoto was still lying there? No, no there should’ve been at least _someone_ smart enough to call an ambulance, or even the police.

How did he end up here, they... they… Yata whipped his head around violently enough to give himself a neck sprain… fuck they threw out his PDA.

              Yata felt tears burn in his eyes, as crazy as it sounded the thought of losing his custom device seemed equally as bad as is current state. It was a present from Saru, the _old Saru,_ his childhood friend… fuck his _only_ childhood friend.

              The click of the door was enough to snap Yata out of his thoughts and back into the present.

              “Are we awake now? Homra’s very own little Vanguard.” Crooned a voice. The light switched on causing Yata to automatically shut his eyes at the glare.

              “Are you filming yet?” asked a second voice.

              “Yeah, yeah I’m already filming.” Replied another captor.

              “Make sure you edit that part out. If this is gonna sell, it needs to be professional. No slacking like last time, got it?” Said the second, who received an annoyed grunt in response.

              By the time Yata’s eyes adjusted to the light three men stood before him, each wearing a black helmet illuminated with neon green lights. Yata opened his mouth with the intention of shouting obscenities at his captors, but found his voice stuck in his throat.

              “Should we gag him?” asked the one

              “How about blindfolding?” suggested the one who spoke first. Yata widened his eyes in fear, horrified with the thought of losing his vision.

              “Nah, I wanna get the look in his eyes on film.” Said the man holding the camera.

              “All right then.” Conceded the first, “but we’ll definitely need an O-ring, this guy looks like he’d be a biter.” He laughed, stepping forward holding something of a metal ring attached to a leather dog collar.

              Yata scrambled back to the corner of the bed as far as his constraints allowed, as the three men approached him. The cameraman slinking a little slower to film the whole scene as it took place.

              One reached out and grabbed his arms pulling him forwards as the other flipping him on his back so he could straddle Yata and stop him from moving. The teen struggled helplessly as his handcuffs were readjusted so that they restrained his arms over his head. Yata turned his face away, refusing to let the man put the metal into his mouth.

              “Awww, come on Yatagarasuu, don’t be difficult.” Teased the man, stroking the side of his cheek with such gentleness it made Yata feel sick.

              The two men had taken their helmets off only to reveal a clothed mask allowing holes for their eyes and moths.

              “Fuck you.” swore the teen, startled when a fake dildo was thrust into his mouth to keep it open, the man tutted as if he were admonishing a naughty child.

              “Now, now. I think we’ll be the ones doing the fucking.” Laughed the man as he tightened the leather strap around Yata’s head. The additional restriction to teen’s movements caused him to breathe harder as he began squirming underneath the men with a new found desperation. He felt pressured from not being able to move his legs arms or close his mouth. The men laughed at his pitiful attempts at breaking free, continuing to stroke his chest, lick his cheeks, bite at his neck.

              The man straddling him pulled up his shirt, exposing him to the cool air of the room. Hands trailed down his ribs, squeezing his waist before trailing up to pinch his nipples. Yata cried out in surprise at the sudden pain, feeling tears finally slipping down his cheek.

              “Don’t cry princess.” Crooned the man sitting behind him. Yata felt vibrations of his voice through his back pressed up against the man’s chest. “We’ll make you feel great.” He murmured, kissing away the tears leaking from his eyes. Yata flinched at the action.

              The teen whimpered when he felt the other man’s warm moist tongue swiping across his right nipple, before he sucked and bit the red nub, stimulating the other with his thumb.

              “I reckon that’s enough, start taking off his pants.” Said the cameraman, sounding a little bored. His tone shocked Yata, as if kidnapping and sexually harassing was a daily occurrence. He couldn’t begin to comprehend his feelings of horror, he about to be raped and lose his virginity to a group of men who couldn’t give a fuck.

              His thoughts were quickly banished as he felt the man straddling him move back so he rested most of his weight on Yata’s shins. The teen whimpered and shook uncontrollably as the man unbuckled his belt and slid his pants down. The O-ring in his mouth made speech impossible, and he could already feel his jaw aching from biting down on the cold metal.

              He wanted to cry out stop as the man grabbed his manhood. He wanted to tell them to fuck themselves as they pulled down his underwear. He wanted to say no as they pressed a lube covered finger into his arse.

Yata felt as though his body was betraying him as he felt the familiar heat rise in his stomach.

_How could his dick respond to such ministrations while his mind cried out in refusal?_

              The man sitting behind him continued to leave marks along his neck, twisting and pinching his nipples, each sensation heightened as his arousal continued to grow without his permission. The other worked two fingers into him, his spare hand pumped Yata’s penis making it hard and leaking. Then the fingers hit something strange.

“Ah!” gasped Yata, horrified at his own voice, he’d managed choke back any loud moans threatening to escape until then. The man grabbing his dick grinned, Yata could feel the shakes of his chuckles forced to jiggle with the motion.

“I think we’ve found it, princess,” he crooned, “you’re very own sweet spot.”

Pressure continued to push against Yata’s prostate as fingers continued to thrust, alternating between scissoring and crooking his fingers up against his walls. Yata had slid down so his head lay on the man’s lap, his legs bent and held backwards and spread wide.

There were three fingers in him by the time he felt like cumming. One final hard press against his prostate was enough to tip him over the edge. The men laughed as he spent himself. He felt sick as pleasure convulsed through his body, and sweat ran down his back as saliva dripped from his open mouth. He felt disgusted, humiliated and filthy.

“Alright I’m going in.” announced the man previously jacking him off. Yata moaned in protest still overly sensitive from his orgasm.

All he could feel as the pain pressed into him was pain. He felt his skin tearing as his unused hole was pushed past its limits. The man continued to press into him, filling him up more than he could imagine. The man finally stopped moving, and Yata gasped in relief. A relief short lived before he grabbed his semi-hard cock once more and started to pump it.

The man was calling his name repeatedly, the other whispering dirty words into his ears. The noises were lost in the sensations he felt as the warmth built up once more in his stomach.

Yata cried out, long past holding back his voice in. It was too much, the stimulation was too great.

“Looks like the aphrodisiac is kicking in.” chuckled the cameraman, stepping forward to zoom in on Yata’s face, before trailing the focus down to his arse.

             The man suddenly pulled out before slamming back into him, Yata shouted in what was hard to distinguish from pleasure and pain. The man continued to move, change his angle of thrusts, searching for Yata’s sweet spot once more.

              Suddenly his was turned over, forced to kneel on his knees and legs as the man continued to pound relentlessly into him, the pressure of his hand over Yata’s cock bordering on the edge of uncomfortable as it had ceased to move. The restraint from his handcuffs loosened slightly, enough so he could support himself, despite the slight freedom of movement there was no way he could fight back.

              Yata’s chin was forced upwards, gagging as the other man’s dick forced its way down his throat through the O-ring opening his mouth. It was bitter, and there was little he could to as the men synchronised their thrusts so they could reach deeper inside each time. Further down his throat, further up his arse.

              Yata could feel himself on the verge of cumming for a second time, gasping in pain as the hand around his cock tightened its grip, stopping his orgasm.

              “You wanna come? Yatagarasu? You feeling good being fucked from both holes? You’re really sucking me in you know, but this would be your second time already! Where’s your politeness? Gonna have to wait for us to cum first, be a good little bitch hmm?”

              They continued to pound into Yata, the man abusing his arse came first, shooting inside as he kept riding his orgasm. It slipped out, and Yata shivered as he felt cum ooze out, his muscles contracting uncontrollably at the sudden emptiness. He knelt backwards legs trembling.

              His throat was sore, jaw aching, and his dick was throbbing painfully, but the other man showed no signs of stopping. It felt like years before the man raping his throat finally came, shooting his bitter seed in Yata’s mouth before pulling out to cover his face with cum. Yata was half aware of the camera zooming once more into his face, before the pressure around his cock lifted and the hand started pumping again so he could finally ejaculate.

              Yata panted completely spent and sore, he let himself be pulled up onto one of the man’s laps, allowed them to move his arms so they hung on to the other’s neck for support.

              Yata breathed a sigh of relief as the strap around his head loosened and metal ring taken from his mouth. His jaw felt cramped and throat sore, but at least they were finished. He tried hard not to think about the cum still sliding down his anus, or the sharp pain still present in his arse and lower back.

He felt used, and dirty, as if he would never be able to look another human being in the eye with the fear of them knowing what he had done. Judging him for it, being ostracised and shunned. He was tainted, and it hurt. His chest was tight and he could feel tears building up in his eyes once more.

“I reckon we can use the blindfold now.” Said the cameraman. Yata’s blood ran cold.

No… no this wasn’t what, what else could they do? What else could they take? They’d already earnt their fucking JUNGLE points.

“Yeah, that’d be great I’m sick of wearing this mask.” Said one of the men.

“Idiot, they’re gonna get your DNA from your semen anyway.” Sneered the cameraman.

“Yeah, but it’s harder to track with no identification.” Reasoned the man Yata was forced to sit on.

Yata shook his head, shaking uncontrollably as the man from behind pulled a black strip of cloth over his eyes brimming with tears.

_Saruhiko…_

* * *

 

“YOU FUCKING USELESS PIECE OF FAT SHIT!” bellowed Fushimi, grabbing the collar of Kamamoto’s T-shirt, with more rage and emotion than anyone had ever seen him express.

“Fushimi!” exclaimed Awashima, shocked at her subordinate’s violent behaviour.

“Fushimi, calm down!” called out Kusanagi, stepping forward to restrain the dark-haired male before he strangled Kamamoto.

“Sir I’m going to have to ask you to leave!” demanded a nurse, running over after hearing the commotion. Fushimi ignored their voices, fighting desperately against Kusanagi’s grip to get back at the hospital bed which Kamamoto occupied.

“HOW COULD YOU LET THEM GET HIM?! WHY ARE YOU SO FUCKING WEAK!” he continued to holler. Awashima quickly moved to join Kusanagi in holding him back. It was a team effort between the both of them as they dragged him out of the emergency ward, apologising profusely to the hospital staff and patients.

“Fushimi, cool your head! You’re acting like an utter disgrace! Do you want to drag Sceptre 4’s any more through the mud?” scolded Awashima when they were a safe distance away from the emergency room. Fushimi glared at her with such intensity she flinched out of reflex.

“Well, I’m sorry I’m such a fucking ‘utter disgrace’. I don’t a fucking shit about Sceptre 4’s fucking reputation.” Spat Fushimi venomously, “The way I see it we’ve already failed the public as it’s our job to fucking _stop_ this sort of fucked up shit before it actually happens!”

“Oi,” snapped Kusanagi roughly pushing Fushimi’s shoulder so he no longer towered over Sceptre 4’s second in command, “stop taking out you anger on people who didn’t cause it.” Fushimi opened his mouth to shoot back with an offensive retort, but Kusanagi sharply cut in before he could have a chance. “Bashing Kamamoto’s already cracked skull into the wall _is not_ going to change anything, and he’s already told us everything he knows anyway.”

Fushimi laughed suddenly, as if it were an innate response for his body when dealing with stress. The strangled, and borderline insane cackles were enough for Awashima and Kusanagi to exchange worried glances about Fushimi’s mental stability.

“Fushimi.” Came the Blue King’s voice demanding attention. The twenty year old continued to his side, bending over slightly as he caught his breath. Fushimi took a few shaky breathes before turning to his King.

“Yes?” he replied crudely.

“I’ll need to ask of you to leave the hospital.” Stated Munakata, “I’m also asking you to take a week off of leave starting today.” Fushimi chuckled darkly, his spout of irrational laughter subsiding.

“I wasn’t planning on turning up.” He drawled, striding towards the hospital exit, ignoring the many stares of visitors and hospital staff alike. Awashima watched him leave with apprehension, not sure if she was more worried about Fushimi or how his current mentally unstable condition would harm others in his search for his friend.

…

“I’ve never once seen him so emotional.” Uttered Awashima, they had gathered once more around Kamamoto’s hospital bed.

“I’m sorry!” broke out the injured male, unable to stop tears prickling eyes. “He’s right I was too weak, it’s my fault Yata’s been taken.”

“It’s not your fault Kamamoto.” Came Anna’s sweetly calm voice, “I can’t locate him with my marbles either.” She added, frustration clear in her tone.

“If the captors are using Strain-inhibiting articles, then it’s out of your control.” Reminded Munakata, staring out of the window as he reassured the young Red King.

“That doesn’t make it any more acceptable.” Muttered Anna, uncharacteristically petulantly.

“No, but nor does blaming your abilities.” Replied the Blue King, understanding full well how little regretting and being stuck in the past helped anything.

The only way was to move forwards, otherwise the past would swallow you whole and make you a part of it.

 

* * *

 

Yata was unconscious by the time Fushimi had found him. His kidnappers had left him blindfolded, chained to the bed and covered in cum, angry bruises and welts had formed underneath the shackles, the skin on his wrists and blossomed with hues of red, purple and blue.

“Misaki.” He whispered, as he reached out with a shaking and to remove the blindfold. He took a deep breath before carefully focussing his blue on the edge of his sword to carefully cut off the shackles and handcuffs binding the teen.

“Misaki, Misaki, Misaki.” Murmured Fushimi, taking off his coat to dress the naked, battered and bruised body. He held the person he deemed most precious in his arms, walking as gently as possible, Misaki had experienced enough rough treatment for more than a lifetime.

The stench coming from Misaki’s body was putrid, and it disgusted him that he felt like puking whilst holding the person he loved. It wasn’t Misaki’s scent though, it was foreign and dirty, other men’s sweat, other men’s body odour, other men’s semen soiling Misaki’s previously pure existence.

             Fushimi was thankful he hadn’t eaten for the past day as he was sure the contents of his stomach would have been emptied when he felt something warm and moist seep through the material of his shirt. As it was, he simply retched and tried as hard as possible not to think about how much fluid was still sliding out.

              “I won’t ever leave you Misaki.” He vowed, “I won’t ever let anyone hurt you ever again.” Fushimi carefully placed the red-haired male inside the borrowed Government issued car. Quietly closing the door, he glared once last time at the disreputable shack.

“I’ll fucking kills the bastards that did this to you.”

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Misaki.” He whispered again. Yata scrunched his face tighter, too scared to open his eyes, too scared to get his hopes up.  
> Too scared to believe the nightmare could be over.

Yata was scared to open his eyes. His throat was parched, back sore and arse throbbing like hell. He tried not to focus on the sweat and grime layering his skin, or the partially dried cum still sliding down the walls of his anus. The gentle rock and hum of an engine was enough of an indication for him to guess he was in a car… but where was he being transported to?

His captors hadn’t bothered to tie him up or drug him this time, something he was extremely grateful for, however he doubted he’d be able to overpower anyone in his current state.

Yata felt pathetic, he used to pride himself on being brave and out there. He thought he was the kind of person who could confront any situation head on and not shy away from the truth like so many others in the crowd.

What a joke.

Here he was, Yata-fucking-Vanguard-of-Homra, scared shitless at the thought of opening his eyes, of learning more. As if he could escape reality by taking refuge behind a thin layer of skin barely blocking out the light.

Yata watched shadows flash past the light. His vision, an epileptic inducing show of red and black behind shut lids. Like this he could pretend it wasn’t real, fantasise he was living in an alternate reality, where his sore muscles and bile stench that clouded him, was some twisted dream that would go away when he actually woke up.

The car slowed to a stop.

Tch

Yata stiffened, starting to believe his delusional musings, perhaps this was a dream after all? Or would a nightmare be more appropriate?

It was more likely, that he was mixing the truth with make believe. Kusanagi had told him before how much of a better person he was when a kept a cool head. Yata knew this to be true, previously he simply let his emotions run wild and feel the raw heat of the Red’s flame. He chose to let go.

Trust him, to need a personal experience of rape to earn a little caution.

There was no way Saruhiko was sitting in the driver’s seat.

Reason told him his captor must have also had a habit of clicking his tongue. It’s not an extremely personal sound like someone’s voice or laughter. Despite the ease in which Saruhiko angered him he secretly yearned for their fleeting bouts of contact consisting of insults, blades and fire. He felt oddly at peace in their battles, entirely unleashing his red, knowing Saruhiko was as equally unrestrained. Knowing that Saruhiko was alive and breathing lifted a burden he didn’t know he carried off his chest.

It was stupid to fantasise, or even begin to hope Saruhiko had miraculously swooped in to save him from a reality he was yet to even confront. There might have been a time, when he would’ve foolishly hang on to some kind of hope, and let himself believe in happy endings. The events of the past year had been enough to shake his former convictions, and this latest instalment was enough to wipe out the last dregs of childhood innocence.

A seatbelt clicked, Yata tried to keep his breathing level despite the spike in his heart rate. He felt the car shift as the captor got out, briefly filling the air with the city’s light traffic before shutting him once more in muted silence as the door thumped close.

Another click. Yata felt a cool breeze caress his face, a shadow cast over his eyelids. He could feel the captor’s presence, smell his perfume… spices… it was familiar yet foreign. A cool hand caressed his cheek and Yata jerked back out of reflex, squeezing his eyes shut as if he could escape.

“Misaki.” Whispered a voice, Saruhiko’s voice. It wasn’t jeering and taunting like it had been since he left. It was soft and deft, as if he had taken a step back in time and was sitting next to his best friend.

“Misaki.” He whispered again. Yata scrunched his face tighter, too scared to open his eyes, too scared to get his hopes up.

Too scared to believe the nightmare could be over.

 

* * *

 

 

“Yes, I’ve brought him back to his apartment.” Notified Fushimi, “Kamamoto told me where he kept his spare keys.” He continued, pre-empting Kusanagi’s following question of how he’d managed to bring Yata home. “I also think it would be better if you didn’t bring the entire circus to greet him for the next few days either. Goodbye.” Fushimi hung up, not caring to wait for a reply.

Muted sounds of running water could be heard from the shower, Yata’s new apartment was considerably smaller than their old accommodation. A small kitchen connected to the living room, which in all honesty only served to act as a bit of floor space connecting to the bedroom and bathroom. The Kotatsu they’d found in a dump four years ago took up majority of the already measly living room area.

Yata was quite sentimental when it came to things. Most of the pillows, furniture and other odds and sods that decorated the apartment where those which used to furnish their old ‘secret base’ they’d created after middle school. The only items Fushimi took with him when he left for Sceptre 4 was his computers, his blades and the clothes on his back.

He’d left behind everything else. The bowls they’d chosen together, doonas they’d fussed over and gaming consoles they used to adore… they had no place in the life he had chosen. Everything apart from his bare necessities screamed to strongly of Misaki or their old relationship he had tried so hard to destroy.

He had wished mar Misaki, push and break him a little, until he was the only person in Misaki’s eyes. He had been drunk on the attention the excitable male had spoiled him with for too long. He couldn’t function without it. But when Misaki’s gazes gravitated elsewhere, Saruhiko couldn’t find the point in wasting away his days with a pack of worthless hooligans. He’d joined for power, power to change the fucked up society the world had come to. He’d joined to change the world _with_ Misaki.

Fushimi used to wonder when everything seemed to matter more, just when he started to take initiation and feel the motivation to make a difference, and not live out his life in the mindless template set out in society to mould the next generation. It was Misaki who changed his outlook, Misaki who was so easily impressed and captivated. Who listened to his dubious plans and projects, breaking down this, travelling away there, creating something new. It didn’t matter what they talked about or how superficial or ludicrous they may have been. Misaki truly _believed_ in them, _believed_ in _him._

Then Suoh Mikoto came waltzing along, inadvertently burning down their little big world. Misaki was captivated, awestruck by someone far more amazing than Fushimi, a King. It had always been a nagging worry in the back of his mind. Fushimi wasn’t foolish enough to believe that he was the most talented human being in this city let along the world. He simply hoped that he would have been enough, enough to keep Misaki by his side, enough to fill Misaki’s needs.

All he needed was Misaki. So why did Misaki need more? He dealt with it, bottled up his frustration and loneliness. The only person caring to spare him a glance was Totsuka. It was kind of the man, but Fushimi couldn’t bring himself to be grateful when the one person his heart screamed out to acknowledge him was bewitched into following another.

He made care to lock the door when he left their ‘secret base’ for the final time, slipping his key into their haphazard post box. It didn’t matter that he was leaving, everything in that room was still worth more than anything at that old mansion ever did. He wanted to keep it safe, despite cutting his ties.

He rubbed his scar. It was a habit he’d picked up after joining Sceptre 4, relishing in the shocked faces of his ‘fellow Clansmen’, flaunting his past of Homra by pulling back his collar.

 

Fushimi wasn’t usually the kind of person to snoop, unlike a certain Blue King, he had no interest in the anomalies of people’s lives… But Misaki was different, he wasn’t some random acquaintance or troublesome work colleague. They’d spent the better part of five years in close interaction, and Fushimi felt himself entirely justified in finding an insight into Misaki’s life after he left.

He was scrutinising the bedroom when Yata shuffled in, a towel hung lazily on his shoulders as water droplets dripped from his hair.

“You’re still here.” He remarked oddly, as if talking to himself more than addressing Fushimi. An awkwardly heavy silence fell between them, a feeling Fushimi wasn’t accustomed to and was rapidly coming to resent.

“Could I take a shower?” asked Fushimi, trying to sound as apathetic as possible as he broke the silence. Yata nodded tiredly, shakily making his way towards the bed.

“Your towel is in there.” He mumbled, pointing in the vague direction of a cupboard as he crawled unto the bed, wincing as he pulled a pillow to his stomach. Fushimi grunted his understanding, trying as hard as possible to keep up the impassive façade he’d unconsciously adopted.

The easiest way to deal with things was pretend to not care, most times this was extremely easy for Fushimi to accomplish seeing as majority of the time he _didn’t_ give a fuck. But this was different, he was _struggling_ to act distanced, it was fucking hard not to grab Misaki and squeeze him tight. To not show emotion as the only human being he deemed precious lay wincing on a bed. It was hard, because Fushimi _did_ care. He cared so much his chest was beginning to ache from constricting for too long.

“You still kept it then?” teased Fushimi, trying to fall back into the character he’d based off his father. “Didn’t burn it?” It was easier this way, easier to say nothing and learn to live with the pain in his chest. He’d done it before.

“Don’t flatter yourself, it was still a perfectly good towel. I let Kamamoto use it when he stays over.” Replied Yata, his words muffled in the pillow he clutched. Fushimi laughed lowly, disguising his unease. Misaki always was better at insulting people when he wasn’t being hot headed.

Fushimi walked over to the general direction Yata pointed at, casually opening each drawer as he searched for his old towel. He wasn’t used to this, feeling more than Misaki, being on the receiving end of apathetic comments.

There was something off about Misaki’s tone, despite the extra bite in his words. Misaki’s voice was lifeless, as if he’d given up or didn’t give a fuck about the world anymore, and it scared Fushimi.

The red-haired male had fallen into a similar stupor after Mikoto’s death, but this was different. Before there had been pain in his voice… and now, now there was nothing.

 

* * *

 

It had been a two days since Fushimi had brought him home. Yata wasn’t entirely sure what to make of his ex-best friend’s sudden appearance in his personal life. If he were to imagine this sort of situation a few days ago Yata would’ve expected them to slay each other in their sleep. As it was, Fushimi simply asked him where the spare Futon was and set up camp in the living room. It definitely wasn’t like the past, where they’d stay up till early in the mornings talking excitedly about everything and nothing. He doubted they’d ever manage to achieve such an innocent bond of trust again.

Yata wasn’t going to lie, their strange new-found cohabitation was bizarre to say in the least, let alone the ease they’d found themselves slipping into it. All the anger, frustration, confusion and grudges seemed to fade into the limelight, and Yata began to wonder why it used to matter so much. He simply couldn’t find the energy for anger or hate.

Fushimi had made it clear that he wasn’t happy with the life he had at HOMRA, and who was Yata to decide how he should live? With the new alliance of the three Kings, the lines between each clan were becoming increasingly fuzzy, so they were almost back to square one.

The entire ordeal seemed like a complete waste of energy and emotion, and the more Yata reflected on their brawls, the more childish and petty they seemed.

 

Saruhiko had insisted that he get a temporary PDA seeing as his custom watch was gone. Yata didn’t express any opinion of the matter and let the tech-savy blue take care of somehow uploading his old contacts onto the new device.

After several calls from various people from HOMRA, Yata muted the tone and turned vibrate off (Saruhiko must have rigged it so it wasn’t possible to turn the bloody power off). Unfortunately it didn’t stop lights flashing every time someone tried to contact him.

Yata sighed, staring at the [incoming call…] message on his screen in preference to actually picking up.

He lay half propped up on the bed, leaning back on the mound of pillows pushed behind his back. He absentmindedly rubbed his stomach, still suffering from diarrhoea, and stomach pains in general. It had gotten to the state where Yata wasn’t sure if he was feeling the injuries inflicted or if they were phantom pains brought about by his paranoia.  

[incoming call… Kamamoto Rikio]

Yata suddenly felt a rush of loneliness, and despite finding joy in Saruhiko’s lack of need to make conversation, he felt as though something was missing. He pressed the button, receiving the call.

“Yata! How are you?” exclaimed Kamamoto through the PDA, looking relieved. Yata smiled wirily.

“In a better shape than you, looks like.” He mused.

“Me? Nah, I’m fine. I’ve been through worse.” Laughed the blonde, tapping the large bandage wrapped around his head.

It was a lie, Kamamoto had never been injured badly enough to need to stay overnight in a hospital before, but Yata wasn’t about to point it out. Stating the truth would only make the conversation more awkward, and to be honest Yata wasn’t interested in bickering about the extent of their injuries.

Silence hung between the two friends, their conversation taking a quick turn towards discomfort.

“So… ahh,” stalled Kamamoto unsure of what to say, “is Fushimi there?” he asked tentatively. Yata’s face twitched in annoyance, was it really that hard to talk to him normally?

“Nah, he stepped out a few minutes ago.” replied Yata non-committedly, suddenly wanting to be alone.

“I see… It’s just he was asking me where your spare keys were kept, so I wasn’t sure if he went back to the blues straight after or…” trailed off Kamamoto. Yata nodded slowly, linking the information together to solve the mini mystery.

“I wondered how he managed to take me home.” He mused. Kamamoto, pulled back slightly in the projection.

“You… didn’t just ask him?” he queried, frowning in confusion. Yata cast his gaze downwards, staring at his feet, legs outstretched on the bed. The need to be alone seemed to grow with every passing second.

“I’m feeling a little tired.” Said Yata, still not looking up at Kamamoto’s face, which was undoubtable full of concern.

“Ahh, yeah sorry… Um I guess I’ll call another time then?” asked Kamamoto anxiously. Yata grunted non-committedly. “Oh yeah!” exclaimed his friend happily, “I’m being discharged tomorrow, so we were planning on celebrating at Bar Homra sometime. Haha, don’t worry it’s all been sorted out with Kusanagi.” Yata narrowed his eyes and glared up at the screen, feeling an irrational bout of annoyance.

“Celebrate what.” He asked sharply, “losing my virginity?” Kamamoto visibly faltered, guilt etched onto his face.

“I-ah, no th-that’s not what we were-” stammered Kamamoto.

“Well whatever, I’m tired. Later.” Grumbled Yata, cutting him off. He terminated the call wishing he could properly turn the PDA off, not wanting the outside world to contact him. He was so fucking sick of people walking on eggshells around him.

Yata angrily tossed his PDA in the vague direction of the dresser, not caring to look around when he heard the distinct thump of it hitting the floor. He turned on his side, rearranging the pillows with more force than necessary. After a few excessive moments of shifting backwards and forwards he finally settled down, only to feel deeply dissatisfied once more.

Regret hit like an unforgiving wave, drowning him in thoughts about the thousands of ways he could’ve handled the conversation better. Yata’s chest tightened, and he suddenly felt lonely again, which was entirely unwarranted and unjustified, seeing as he literally cut off the person trying to keep him company.

Yata looked at his wrist to check the time, only to remember that he didn’t have a watch anymore. He turned once more away from the window, feeling irrationally irritated with the clear blue skies mocking him from outside.

He annoyed, but too tired and lethargic to move. He felt emotionally drained, which was ridiculous, because he hadn’t felt any real emotion for the past few days. The most angry he could get was at the fact that he couldn’t actually feel rage. It was the constant dissatisfaction and weariness that irritated him to no end.

All he wanted was to go back to how he was before. He tried forgetting what happened and to simply move on, but the more he steadied himself to block out the past, the harder it got to remember what he acted like before the incident.

Yata’s eyes burned as tears spilled without consent, soaking into an uncomfortable warm wet patch on the doona’s fabric. He didn’t know why he was crying, there wasn’t even anything new to trigger the tears. It felt as though he as constantly walking a fine line between snapping at someone and breaking down. The worse thing was that he couldn’t _feel_ couldn’t grasp onto any proper emotion. Aside from stress, all he experienced were half-assed feelings of irritation, frustration and confusion and fear.

The tears that came everyday only served to irritate the skin around his eyes. They did little to actually _relieve_ the stress and fear refusing to let him go, as if they were his body’s way of dealing with the situation, he had no control.

He felt more emotion towards the fact that he couldn’t bring himself to care about anything happening around him, than feelings anything towards the things themselves.

He was tired, and sick of feeling scared.

It should have been over, but it felt as though his tormenting had only truly started.

 

* * *

 

“Seri-chan, always a pleasant surprise.” Greeted Kusanagi, as the blonde closed the door and walked gracefully to her usual stool. Awashima smiled tiredly in response placing down her handbag. “Well, what would you like?” he asked, placing down the cup he was polishing.

“Hmm, let’s see… I’ll have salty dog.” She decided, Kusanagi nodded at her decision, starting to reach for a fresh glass. “But replace the salt part with red beans…” Kusanagi felt a muscle twitch at the following request, “and also, can you put some white beans and a sweet rice jelly in the vodka?” Kusanagi made a pained expression.

“You know… that’s not really ‘Salty dog’ anymore…” He said reproachfully. Awashima raised her eyebrow challengingly.

“You’re wish is my command.” He commended, busying himself with creating the monstrosity of the alcoholic beverage.

The bar was empty, seeing as it was a Thursday afternoon, and none of the Homra members were hanging around (at Kusanagi’s request). Seri wasn’t too keen on meeting the Reds out of uniform and Kusanagi was more than supportive of keeping their private lives out of the King’s world.

“I hear Yata’s making a recovery?” posed Awashima, gently stirring her drink. Kusanagi stiffened slightly.

“Well, that’s more than we’ve been told.” Stated Kusanagi a little stiffly, “Fushimi pretty much hung up on me when I called, and Yata hasn’t been picking up at all.” Awashima nodded, her cup mostly untouched.

“We’re doing all we can to find the perpetrators… but, it might be difficult seizing the video. It’s likely that the group have already distributed the data.” She Admitted. “Erasing it from the internet is almost impossible, let alone destroying the files people who could’ve downloaded it and stored it on another device.”

“Well, they better pray you’re the first ones to find them.” Said Kusanagi darkly. Seri looked up worriedly, the Red clan was known for their vicious loyalty and thirst for revenge.

“Don’t do anything illegal, there’s only so much leeway Sceptre 4 can allow Homra even though we’re temporarily affiliated. There’s still a lot of bad blood from the higher ups.” Warned Awashima, worried about the group’s already damaged reputation in the eyes of the police. Kusanagi leaned forward slightly, a dangerous glint in his eye.

“Are you saying it wouldn’t be worth it? Just a little hard words with some paper pushing big shot? Giving those bastards what they deserved?” he whispered lowly, “After what they’ve done to Yata?” Kusanagi’s voice was soft, but the volume did nothing to ease the sheer dark threat accompanying the dangerously controlled rage behind it.

Awashima opened her mouth, feeling as though she needed to reply. She was taken aback by his change in demeanor, they’d fought against one another before and it only appeared to her now how much he treated those battles as games. This was the first time she’d caught a glimpse of what life was like on the opposite side of Kusanagi Izumo, and hoped it was the last time she would ever see it.

The bar door opened, and the blonde let out a breath she hadn’t known was being held.

“Ah, Kamamoto.” Smiled Kusanagi, back to pleasantly polishing wine glasses as if his conversation with Seri had only touched on the colourful flowers out the front. The injured member smiled weakly, pausing when he caught sight of Sceptre 4’s second in command.

“I-ah am I interrupting something?” he asked worriedly.

“Nonsense, sit down.” Said Awashima briskly, patting the chair next to her. Kamamoto hesitantly sat down, unconsciously patting the bandage around his head to make sure it wasn’t unravelling.

“Um…” started Kamamoto, looking down at his hands clutching the edge of the stool. He actually fit (thanks to his extreme seasonal weight loss), which was an odd feeling, seeing as he was mostly serving at the bar in Summer and rarely stopped to sit down. The two second in commands waited patiently for him to continue. “I’m not sure if having a party is a good idea…” he mumbled.

“What party?” asked Awashima, looking up at Kusanagi confusedly.

“The Silver King wished for all the clansmen to strengthen their alliances and celebrate our unification.” Announced the bartender, “But Neko absolutely refused to take a step in Sceptre 4’s headquarters, and we can hardly all turn up at Ashinaka High school, so it was kind’ve decided we’d meet here.”

“I just…” mumbled Kamamoto anxiously, “I think it’s a little insensitive to be having a celebration right now. Yata said that, it’s just… yeah I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Finished Kamamoto clumsily. Kusanagi frowned slightly, only yesterday in the hospital had he expressed excitement over the idea. The Bartender wasn’t sure if he was happy someone actually managed to contact Yata… or if Kamamoto’s obvious discomfort outweighed the positivity.

“I don’t think it should be too much of a problem to rearrange.” Said Awashima reasonably, “Maybe a more formal occasion can be put in place instead of the festive approach, I shall speak to Munakata.” Kamamoto looked up gratefully at her support.

“That stupid Jungle chatroom’s gotta to be brought down now, you know being part of a crime and all.” Growled the injured member. Awashima stiffened slightly, looking at Kusanagi for support. She was given none, as the barman’s attention was seemingly focussed on rigorously polishing a glass.

“Um, well the thing is…” started Awashima, unsure of herself. “We can’t actually persecute the website.”

“What do you mean?!” exploded Kamamoto, “After all of this? What use is the fucking legal system for?” Awashima grimaced, understanding his rage.

“Jungle was simply the mode of communication these people used.” She explained, “we can’t make the website illegal, that’d be like banning all PDA calls from the country because some criminals used it for organised crime.”

“I can’t fucking believe it.” Snorted Kamamoto, “So the Green King’s gonna get away scot free for this shit. Af-after underhandedly hurting one of our own!” his voice rising and shaking a little more with each word.

“Kamamoto.” Said Kusanagi sharply. “Calm down a little. Anna wanted to see you, that’s what your came for isn’t it?” He added, knowing that mentioning their young King would bring Kamamoto back under control. The younger Red clansman drooped a little.

“Yeah. Sorry Awashima-san.” He apologised, covering his face in his hands. The Sceptre 4 member smiled reassuringly, despite knowing his eyes were closed.

“Don’t worry about it, everyone’s feeling stressed at the moment.” Awashima paused, taking a moment to decide whether or not she should continue. “Um, when Fushimi was still a part of Homra… was he extremely close with Yata-san? I’ve never seen him so distraught, he’s always so impassive and calm.” Kusanagi nodded.

“Yeah, they were practically joint at the hip when we first met them.” Smiled the bartender. It was bittersweet, thinking of the past when everyone was younger, when Homra was thriving and its members still breathing.

 

* * *

 

 

Anna and Kusanagi stood outside of Yata’s apartment, the Red King daintily rapping on the old wooden door, paint peeling from its frame. They had already been waiting for a solid five minutes, but it didn’t seem to faze the young King. Kusanagi smiled, finding her tenacity admirable. Perhaps being stubborn was simply a trait shared by all Red Kings.

Angry footsteps could be heard from within and Kusanagi spotted a sly grin decorating Anna’s face.

“What! No one’s home!” spat Yata as he opened the door, only to jump back a little once realising it was in fact his King and Homra’s second in command who had been waiting outside his appartment… not some overly persistent salesperson.

“Yata.” Announced Anna, “Can we come in?” she asked pleasantly. Yata snapped out of his shock, quickly stepping back to open the door wider.

“Sure, ah… welcome.” Murmured Yata if a little listlessly.

“Is Saruhiko here?” asked Anna, peering around the room looking to find the old Homra member.

“Oh, ah no. He’s working… I think, I didn’t bother asking.” Admitted Yata, motioning for his guests to sit at the Kotatsu as he veered off into the kitchen. Anna looked a little disappointed, Yata couldn’t quite remember if the two had been close… he felt a little guilty about how selfish he must’ve been not to notice anything. The signs must have been obvious, Saruhiko being discontent with Homra… fuck what a great friend he’d been. Just another flaw to add to his depressingly long list.

Did you want something to drink?” he offered belatedly.

“Tea.” Requested Anna, kneeling on one of the pillows set out. Yata wasted as much time as possible in the kitchen, setting the gas flame on half instead of full so that the kettle took twice as long to boil. If either Anna or Kusanagi were irritated with his dawdling neither uttered a word of complaint, their polite behaviour only served to make Yata feel even more uncomfortable.

He set down the pot on the Kotatsu, again taking his time to serve each of them. Anna took her cup and blew gently, staring at Yata all the while. The red-haired male rubbed the back of his neck, feeling as though those unblinking eyes could see through his soul.

“So, uh Kamamoto not here then?” observed Yata.

“He thought his presence would be unwelcome.” Said Kusanagi bluntly, taking out a cigarette on instinct. The atmosphere was so thick you could swim through it.

“Could you not smoke?” asked Yata looking down at his cup, “Saru hates the smell.” He explained. Kusanagi blinked in surprise before packing it away in his breast pocket.

“Is Fushimi living here now?” queried Kusanagi, noticing the spare futon folded in the corner of the living room. Yata followed his line of sight.

“Yeah… I guess.” He replied vaguely, staring blankly at the pile of sheets.

“Misaki.” Spoke Anna, placing a small hand on his wrist, the sudden contact caused him to flinch violently spilling the contents of his cup.

“Ah, sorry you didn’t get burnt did you?” asked Yata a little shakily, wiping off the hot tea his arm with his shirt. The skin flushed an angry red, adding to the yellow and purple bruises creating a permanent bracelet around his wrist. He pulled the sleeves of his shirt down, hiding the skin. Yata looked away, feeling his cheeks heat in embarrassment and shame.

He didn’t want to look up and see their faces, and see their expressions of pity and concern.

“Misaki.” Repeated Anna, reaching her hand out again. Yata jerked backwards, away from the Kotatsu and Anna’s outstretched hand.

He didn’t want her to touch him. He didn’t want to transmit any of the filth accumulated on him, in him. He was soiled and tainted. Anna still was pure, she needed to stay pure, needed to stay away from him.    

“I’m sorry.” Mumbled Yata, curling in on himself so his forehead rested on his knees. “I’m sorry, please just... just leave.” Anna looked up at Kusanagi who nodded and indicated with his head towards the door. The pair stood up and slowly made their way out, Anna’s eyes transfixed on the exposed skin of Yata’s arms and ankles. Kusanagi tugged on her hand, pulling her to give Yata some breathing space.

“I’ll come again.” She promised, dropping a red marble into the pocket of Yata’s jacket hanging on the door.

Yata heard the door click shut and strained his ears until he could no longer hear their footsteps down the stairs. He didn’t move despite the arse protesting with the position. Hot tears flowed uncontrollably down his cheeks, causing him to feel feverish. His chest tightened painfully, making it hard to breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> I have no idea how many chapters this fic will go on for, but hopefully I will finish it! (I have a pretty bad habit of not finishing things, however I shall strive to actually complete this). I hope my character development isn’t too OOC…  
> OH WELL.  
> Till next time, (and thanks again for reading, I hope there aren't too many typos hehe)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is what he wanted, wasn’t it?  
> To have Misaki rely on him entirely, to need his support, to be lost and broken without his presence?  
> He felt no pride, no satisfaction in witnessing this side of his friend. A broken side no one had ever seen of Yata Misaki.

Saruhiko entered the room to find Yata curled into a ball on the floor. The light was off and mostly filled tea cups decorated the Kotatsu, their lack of steam indicated the brew was cold.

“Misaki.” He whispered hoarsely, bending down to shake his friend’s shoulder. It was too bony for Fushimi’s liking, he’d been healthier even when they started to skip meals to budget the costs of living when they’d first moved out. Misaki had well and truly lost the extra weight he’d been so embarrassed of in middle school.

\--

“Saruu! You’re not listening to mee~!” wailed Misaki, thumping the side of his fist on his knee to accentuate his discontentment. Saruhiko clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“You’re too noisy Misaki, I’ve got a headache.” Groaned Saruhiko, massaging his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Don’t call me that at school!” hissed Misaki, looking around the empty roof top in paranoia.

“There’s no one here.” Pointed out Saruhiko, enjoying his friend squirm in discomfort.

              “Anyway, I bet you’ve got a headache, cause you never eat your vegies!” reprimanded Misaki, waggling a finger in front of the disgruntled teen’s face.

              “That makes no sense.” Said Saruhiko flatly.

              “Of course it does!” emphasised Misaki a little too loudly for Saruhikos’ already pounding head.

              “I’m just tired.” He conceded, not feeling like having another pointless argument that would only go in circles. That man* had recently come home and the fear of Niki playing a prank on him whilst he slept was enough to warrant a restless night. Misaki eye’s widened a little as he leant closer, scrutinising Saruhiko’s face.

              “Hey! You’re right, you’ve got bags under your eyes!” exclaimed the shorter teen worriedly. Saruhiko glared sarcastically at his friend… _You don’t say?_

              He opened his mouth to make a snide comment but was cut off before he could utter a word.

              “Well you’ll just have to use my stomach as a pillow then!” deduced Misaki, as if it were obviously the next logical step in their conversation.

              “What?” asked Saruhiko, not hiding his confusion.

              “Well you’d complain about it being dirty sleeping on the floor, or say you’d get a neck cramp from sleeping sitting up. But you still need to rest” Continued Misaki as he fell into his usual motherly routine whenever complaining about Saruhiko’s health.

              “Yeah, but wouldn’t a lap pillow be more appropriate?” said Saruhiko flatly. Misaki paused for a moment frowning slightly as he mulled over Sarhiko’s words. It was always easy to read the headstrong teen’s expressions, he was like an open book. His honesty could be jarring at times, but the openness made life that much simpler for Saruhiko as he never needed to worry about Misaki intentionally hiding certain parts of a story from him or manipulating information.

              “But… wouldn’t legs be uncomfortable to lie on? I mean there’s two of them and their full of bones… I don’t know what kind of pillows _you_ use at home.” Mumbled Misaki defensively. Saruhiko raised an eyebrow.

              “Ok, go on then.” Conceded the taller teen gesturing for Misaki to lie down, who grinned widely and happily complied. Saruhiko rested his head on the shorter’s stomach, glad he wore his uniform so slackly, otherwise buttons would be pressing into his skull.

              “See isn’t it better than a _lap._ ” Came Misaki’s voice, Saruhiko could feel the tremors in his stomach as he spoke. It was strange, but oddly comforting and warm.

              “Only because you’ve got a bit of extra padding.” Teased Saruhiko, who had noticed the small tummy the shorter had last time they were in the change rooms.

              “Huh?” grunted Misaki in confusion, before suddenly sitting up and ultimately pushing Saruhiko’s head off.

              “H-hey! I’m not fat!” he exclaimed self-consciously, face bright red as he shielded his stomach with his arms. Saruhiko regretted his words a little, foolishly losing his warm pillow. However Misaki’s unwarranted concern over his weight was a little endearing too.

              “Don’t stress over it.” Chuckled Saruhiko. “I like you like this, it’s perfectly fine.” He explained, earning a slightly less upset pout.

\--

Fushimi gazed down despondently at the sleeping figure, wondering whether he should wake the other up, or even move him to the bed. Misaki didn’t normally catch colds, but then again, he’d never been this underweight before either.

“Misaki.” Murmured Fushimi again, shaking a little harder. This time he got a sleepy moan of protest in response.

Little memories like these seemed to surface more and more every day, as if they’d been supressed for too long and were now coming back in a desperate attempt to rebuild their previously intimate relationship.

              Clicking his tongue in annoyance, Fushimi decided it would be simpler to carry his friend to bed instead of waking him up first. Yata was too thin for a young adult, too light for someone his height, too bony for someone with as much life as he held. Fushimi managed to take one step before Yata awoke with a start.

              “DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME!” He screamed, voice breaking in desperation as he squirmed and lashed out at Fushimi’s face.

              “Misaki!” yelped the taller male, only just stopping a fist from smashing into his face by grabbing his friend’s wrist. The restraint only served to worsen the situation as Yata’s attempts to break free turned more erratic.

              “LET ME GO!” he cried voice shaking as he trembled uncontrollably, swinging another fist at Fushimi with his free hand. The impact was enough for Fushimi to lose balance, doubling over and crashing onto the floor still trying to hang onto his friend.

              “Misaki!” panted Fushimi urgently, trying hard to ignore the throbbing of his rib cage, there was definitely going to be a nice bruise for the next week. Yata lay beneath him sobbing silently as he curled himself into a tight ball. Fushimi tried to pull his arm from underneath his friend, but quickly decided disturbing Yata wasn’t worth it.

              “Misaki.” Repeated Fushimi, this time in a soft voice. He reached over to stroke auburn strands from his friend’s tear stained face, cringing internally as Yata flinched and froze in response to his touch.

              “D-don’t t-touch me.” He choked feebily, eyes clenched shut as if the action would make Fushimi disappear.

              “Misaki, it’s me. Saru, Saruhiko.” Spoke Fushimi his voice barely heard above their heavy breathing. Yata shook his head, pulling away as he curled even tighter into himself.

              “Misaki, come on, open your eyes.” He insisted, firmly squeezing Yata’s shoulder. With an effort he heaved the both of them upright, holding his trembling friend in a tight embrace as his most precious person cried.

              “Misaki, Misaki, Misaki.” He whispered into the back of his neck, rocking backwards and forwards slightly as he slowly calmed down.

              This is what he wanted, wasn’t it?

              To have Misaki rely on him entirely, to need his support, to be lost and broken without his presence?

              Holding the trembling frame in his arms was enough of an experience for Fushimi to never wish that again.

              He felt no pride, no satisfaction in witnessing this side of his friend. A broken side no one had ever seen of Yata Misaki.

              Never again, never again would he let Misaki feel like this. Never again would he wish for emotion such as rage, frustration, turmoil to overwhelm his friend. It horrified him how close he’d been to becoming that man*, somewhere along the way with the kings, and the power and the slates he’d lost the one promise he made to himself.

              To act always with good intentions. To not find amusement in the suffering of others.

              What had he done? That man wasn’t the embodiment of strength, he was simply sick. A sick pathetic being whose existence was completely wasted.

              Had he stayed by Misaki’s side? Had he not burnt their bridges? Had he been more open instead of pushing him away?

              Would this have happened? Could he have stopped this?

              Yata’s arms feebly clung onto his back. “Saru?” He croaked, sniffing against his chest.

              “I’m here, Misaki, I’m here. I’m not leaving, I won’t ever leave you.” Whispered Fushimi, hating the edge of desperation leaking into his voice. Yata squeezed a little tighter as Fushimi stroked the back of his head, finding comfort in steadying beat of their hearts.

 

* * *

 

              “Please Rikio, you need to eat something.” Pleaded Ayumi, kneeling beside the couch the currently thin Kamamatsu lay upon.

              “I’m, not really hungry.” He responded glumly, turning away from his girlfriend.

              “Stop sulking so much! If you wanted to see him that badly you should’ve joined Anna and Kusanagi-san!” exclaimed Ayumi, her patience baring a little thin after a solid week of her boyfriend moping and refusing to listen.

              “HE DOESN’T WANT TO SEE ME!” burst out Kamamoto sitting up suddenly in a fit of rage.

              “HOW DO YOU KNOW?!” shouted Ayumi in defence, standing up suddenly feeling threatened and angry.

              “Saruhiko definitely doesn’t,” spat Kamamoto darkly, “I don’t blame him for it either.” Ayumi took a deep breath forcibly calming herself. Getting angry and shouting at one another wasn’t the solution to this mess, and she definitely didn’t want them to have a relationship breaking fight over something so preventable.

              “Rikio,” started Yumiko, once she was sure her voice would be steady, “It wasn’t your fault.” Kamamoto rested his forehead on his knees, sighing heavily before looking up at his girlfriend. Her offended yet concerned expression caused a wave of guilt and embarrassment to crash into him

              “Shit, I’m sorry.” He apologised quietly, closing his eyes. “I shouldn’t have shouted.”Ayumi shook her head, despite knowing he wouldn’t see the gesture. She knelt once more beside the couch, rubbing his arm in comfort.

              “It’s ok, I understand.” Appeased Yumiko. She knew it was a presumptuous thing to say, there was no way she could truly comprehend what her boyfriend and Yata-kun were going through, but she did understand that the pressure and stress that inevitably followed. There wasn’t much she could do to help apart from giving her support. She wished there was something she could physically _do_ something tangible with a goal in mind, as it was her blind blundering left her feeling pathetically useless.

              The door to the bar opened, causing both Kamamoto and Yumiko to look up. Kusanagi was his usual aloof self, but Yumiko could tell the meeting wasn’t exactly heartening by Anna’s slight slouch.

              “How is he?” asked Kamamoto quickly. Kusanagi grimaced, closing the door behind them before striding towards his usual place behind the bar.

              “Misaki’s red has dimmed.” Explained Anna cryptically, as neatly placed herself on the couch Mikoto used to sleep on. Kamamoto felt his face muscles strain as he strived to keep a tight smile.

              “Is that so.” Mumbled Kamamoto hollowly. An uncomfortable silence settled over the room. Yumiko glanced around desperately thinking of a way to lighten the mood.

              “Oh, Anna did you manage to finish those math exercises I set you?” asked Yumiko, inwardly cringing at how forcibly upbeat her voice came out. The twelve year old avoided eye contact, wringing her hands sheepishly. “Did you get stuck?” questioned Yumiko as she rummaged through her bag looking for a spare pen.

              “I didn’t get stuck.” Insisted Anna stubbornly. Yumiko let out a small laugh.

              “OK, ok. Let’s just pick up where you got bored then.” She smiled, knowing they’d be stuck all day if she tried to get Anna to admit she was having trouble. Anna sighed petulantly, leaning back a little further into the couch. Yumiko felt herself relax, it felt good to see Anna behaving like her age.

Totsuka used to give her basic numeracy and literacy lessons and after Rikio’s request for her to tutor the eleven year old Yumiko leaped to the opportunity. She came from a pretty large family and was used to teaching her siblings… and helping Rikio with his studies which were far from his forte.

“Didn’t you say something about not wanting the other kings to look down on you because you hadn’t even completed compulsory education?” commented Kamamoto, knowing the Red King’s pride would win over her reluctance to finish the math exercise.

With a small huff she reluctantly slipped off the couch and up the stairs to collect her books.

“Kamamoto, watch the shop for me.” Notified Kusanagi, pulling on a coat as he opened the door. “Lock up if it gets too late.”

“Ok?” said Kamamoto uncertainly. He had long learnt not to ask details about Kusanagi’s errands, it was probably in the best interests of Homra for the group not to know how or where strategist collected his information.

 

* * *

 

Fushimi rested his head on the side of the bed, still clutching Yata’s hand. Despite the fact that both of them had sweaty palms by now, it was surprisingly not that repulsive. In fact, he didn’t really want to let go at all. Not until Yata got some proper rest and woke up without looking more tired than when he lay down.

              The tone of his PDA went off, and Fushimi almost had the mind to break it for interrupting his rare moment of peace. The fact that hardly anybody had his personal number, and those that did knew not to call him for trivial matters made him think twice before throwing it against the wall.

              Reluctantly letting go of Yata’s hand he silently slipped out of the room, the caller ID was unknown, only causing Fushimi’s curiosity and apprehension to increase. It wasn’t like he ever inputted people’s data into his phone, but anyone from Sceptre 4, namely Awashima wouldn’t be putting their ID as unknown. He didn’t pick up until after he shut the door of Yata’s apartment behind him.

              “Fushimi speaking.” He said brusquely.

              “Fushimi-san, it’s Kusanagi.” Came Homra’s second in command. Fushimi narrowed his eyes suspiciously, leaning his back against the wooden door.

 

              “How did you get my number?” asked Fushimi coldly.

              “That’s not important at the moment.” Came Kusanagi’s strained reply, it wasn’t like it was that great of a mystery who gave his PDA number out in any case. Awashima’s dismal attempts at keeping the two second in commands relationship under wraps was enough of a clue.

              “Well? What?” asked Fushimi impatiently, his general displeasure of interacting with members from Homra was only heightened as Kusanagi had made him leave Misaki’s side.

              “The…” began Kusanagi. Fushimi’s scowl only deepened, if he’d been in a clearer state of mind he’d find Kusanagi’s reluctance to speak unnerving. The man was usually completely in control.

              “Spit it out or I’m hanging up.” Snarled Fushimi.

              “The video has been uploaded.” Rushed Kusanagi. Fushimi’s blood ran cold.

              “Video…” repeated Fushimi dumbly.

              “I’ve been keeping tabs on the blog so I knew when these things were going public… I-I just, I know you’re good with programming, so… is it possible to somehow hack it? Or… take it down?” asked Kusanagi, struggling with his words. Fushimi took a deep breath, thumping the back of his head against the door. He felt a laugh bubble up his throat.

              “Hack JUNGLE?” he chuckled. There was no humour in the shake of his voice, irrepressible convulsions served only to tighten his already strained chest. “Don’t think I haven’t already tried that.” A sigh could be heard on the other side of the line.

              “I was worried that would be the case.” Came Kusanagi’s weathered voice, “looks like we’ll have to do this the old fashioned way then. Can you at least find their addresses?” asked the older man resignedly.

              “I can only find out as much information as they inputted into the system. So, pretty much only their district…” sighed Fushimi, suddenly feeling extremely tired.

              “That’s enough for me to work on, it’ll help us in finding the distributors. I’m sure we’ll trace it back to the men eventually… I’ll keep in touch.” Informed Kusanagi.

“Fushimi? You there?” he asked, waiting patiently for the other’s response.

              “What.” Spat the younger male.

              “Look, I know you hate Homra, and you’ve made it pretty clear that you don’t like the current alliance between clans. But this isn’t about kings, or the slates. This is about getting back at the dickheads who attacked Yata, and like it or not, it’s gonna be a hell of a lot more efficient if we work together.” Reasoned Kusanagi. “I’ll keep in contact.” He reiterated, sounding all business-like. Well he was an underground informant after all, Homra was pretty much a flashy group of thugs.

              The line cut off before Fushimi could retort back.

              A familiar feeling of disgust settled over his stomach once more. It made him sick that other men had forced themselves upon Misaki, and it made it even worse with the knowledge that even more lowlifes would be buying and jacking off to the video.

              Fushimi turned his head, looking down at the old doorknob barely hanging onto its frame. Misaki needs better security. Especially if some of the creeps watching the tape turned out to be stalkers as well who fancied the vanguard as an easy target.

 

* * *

 

 

              Yata awoke to a loud clatter followed by heavy stream of swearing. His head pounded a little, but it wasn’t too painful, more the kind of heaviness accompanied by sleeping for too long. He unconsciously reached up to rub his eyes, wincing from the action of flexing his wrists.

              The memories were never far away. Even the rare moments of distraction were easily broken through pain as a reminder or the scars on his body.

              Yata couldn’t help but smile as he heard another stream of swearing, only Fushimi could pull of such a long non-repetitive monologue of foul words as if he were breathing. It was a bit of a struggle to find the will power to get out of bed, especially with the added effort of tugging his doona in tow. The effort was definitely worth it.

              “What are you doing?” asked Yata, his voice a little croaky from misuse. Fushimi snapped his head up, looking slightly alarmed and flustered. The kitchen was a mess, to say in the least. Egg shells littered the benches, cut pieces of carrots (supposedly meant to be diced) decorated the floor along with the odd spring onion. A pot filled with a carbonated sticky substance sat on the stove filling the air with enough smoke to make Yata’s eyes prickle a little.

              Saruhiko straightened up a little, attempting to save face by wearing his trademarked smirk. It might have worked… if his glasses didn’t have half cooked egg smeared on the side of his lenses or his weapon of choice was not a spatula covered in the same carbon mess on the stove.

              “Are you trying to burn down my flat?” joked Yata, leaning on the side of the door frame pulling the blanket a little tighter around his shoulders.

              “Where did you get that idea from Mi~sa~ki~?” drawled Fushimi. Yata had to give it to him, for acting so suave despite him clearly failing cooking 101.

              “At least turn on the fan, I can barely breath.” Huffed the older male, dropping the blanket before stepping into the kitchen and turning on the exhaust. The two regarded one another as the gentle yet loud hum of the fan filled the room.

              “You ran out of food.” Notified Fushimi, placing down the dirtied spatula into the sink. Yata raised an eyebrow, trying extremely hard not to laugh.

              “Are you saying that’s my fault?” asked Yata in disbelief.

              “It’s your apartment.” Reasoned Fushimi, taking off his glasses to wipe away the smear.

              “I’m not the person who _wasted_ the contents of my fridge!” pointed out Yata, feeling the corners of his mouth tug upwards.

              The entire situation was simply absurd. Saru-never stepping into the kitchen-hiko, sheepishly wiping egg off his glasses with the failed attempt of something on the stove, wasn’t something you’d see every day.

              “What was this anyway?” queried Yata, peering into the pot as he picked it up.

              “Rice.” Replied Fushimi defensively. Yata stole a glance at his previous best friend, this time not being able to stop the smile from sneaking past his lips.

              “I thought you’d finally learn how to cook after living alone at the blues for so many years.” Quipped Yata, “Or do you get food from a canteen there as well as accommodation?” he continued. Fushimi clicked his tongue as he pushed his, now cleaned, glasses back onto his nose. Yata laughed a little as he filled the pot with water to soak.

It was almost as if they’d never left each other’s side. Fushimi looked younger, like the awkward honour-student dweeb he was in middle school, with his hair lying flat without that stupid gel, and frowning petulantly instead of with malice. Yata _felt_ younger, younger than he had in years. Maybe it was because he finally got some sleep. Or maybe it was the thought of Saru trying to cook him a meal, despite all they’d been through.

He just felt… content.

 

* * *

 

Fushimi clicked his tongue as Yata placed a bag of carrots into their shopping basket.

“Seriously? Saru, are you five?!” exclaimed the shorter male, raising an eyebrow.

“You know I don’t like vegetables Misaki.” Replied Fushimi smoothly.

“I thought your times at the blues would’ve changed that.” Retorted Yata, cruising over the fresh produce.

“The lack of milk in your fridge seems to indicate _you_ haven’t grown up either.” Sneered Fushimi, following a step closer behind Yata than was normally socially acceptable. “No wonder, you’re still a midget.”

“What was that?!” snapped the shorter male, whipping around at Fushimi’s snide comment. Yata jolted back a little, not expecting Fushimi to be standing so close. “Besides, I’m lactose intolerant. It’s not like _you_ have an allergy to vegetables!” Fushimi grinned as he leaned against a shelf of broccoli, succeeding in bringing his face closer to Yata’s.

“I have a physical compulsion to expel such substances from my stomach.” Replied Fushimi, relishing in the way Yata’s scowl deepened.

“I doubt vegetables have ever reached that far down your digestive track.” Muttered the older male in response, turning away once more to continue filling the basket with food. Fushimi couldn’t help but feel relieved at seeing his friend’s irked mannerisms.

It was easy, and natural. This meaningless banter. The young, and innocent boy Fushimi had first met years ago was gone, and it saddened him he’d never have the opportunity to relive that relationship ever again. They’d both grown up, or perhaps grown apart was the greater issue at hand.

Anything was better than the lifeless being who’d been inhabiting Misaki’s body for the past week. Arguing, swearing, making bitter comments that hit a little closer to the truth than he was accustomed to was better than that. At least that was one thing Fushimi’s conflicted inner monologue could agree on.

Yata reached out as he sorted through various tangerines, before suddenly flinching back as though he had been burnt. Fushimi felt his heart race in panic as the familiar dogged look returned to his friend’s face. Yata pulled at the sleeves of his shirt, eyes darting around the store in paranoia. Fushimi wordlessly took the basket from the shorter male, taking over the task of filling the bag with tangerines. He stepped closer intentionally brushing his arm against Yata in what he hoped to be a symbol of support, but the other male either didn’t notice or simply chose not to respond as he nervously rubbed his wrists.

“Misaki.” Fushimi spoke in a soft voice as he placed a hand over Yata’s to stop him from irritating the bruises and broken skin. Yata stilled, suddenly taking in a big breath before shakily letting it out. “Misaki.” Repeated Fushimi gently prying Yata’s hand from his injured wrist.

“I’m sorry.” Whispered Yata, unconsciously gripping onto the hand pulling his own. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorr-”

“Misaki, stop apologising to me please.” Pleaded Fushimi, dropping the basket to take both of Yata’s hands in his own. He pulled the shorter male closer, resting his chin on Yata’s head.

“Saru…” murmured the other, squirming a little. “People are staring.”

“Let them.” Shrugged Fushimi, snaking an arm around Yata. He honestly couldn’t give a fuck about what ‘society’ thought of them, gay, queer, unnatural. Whatever, fuck that, fuck them. They could judge all they liked, all that mattered was Misaki, and if stopping his friend slip into the dark void of fear and anxiety meant suffering a little public ridicule Fushimi had no qualms with the latter.

 

* * *

 

Yata rested his head on his arms, glancing sidelong at Fushimi as he tapped away on his laptop. Dinner was surprisingly comfortable, it was probably the first day they’d actually communicated with each other despite living in close proximity for the past week.

If anyone had told him less than a fortnight ago that he’d be sitting under a kotatsu with his long time best friend, he would’ve laughed in their face. It still felt a little surreal. Saru sitting in such close proximity without making a snide comment or pushing for a fight. They were simply…co-existing, and it felt… Yata wasn’t sure what he felt. It was a comforting thought, knowing that Saru was there for him, there to support him.

But he also felt pressured, pressured by who he used to be. Pressured by their old relationship, because he was certain he didn’t have the capacity to be the same person, didn’t have the energy to act the same way, didn’t have the innocence to dream the same dreams.

It felt a little claustrophobic under the heated table. His knees touching Saru’s, Yata could’ve sworn it was more spacious a few years ago. A frustratingly familiar dull restlessness settled over him, as if there was something that needed to be done, but he didn’t know what and wasn’t sure if he had the energy to act upon it. He rearranged his legs, in attempt to find the resemblance of comfort.

“Stop squirming.” Said Fushimi irritably, eyes flashing up for a moment to give Yata a hard look. The taller male paused noticeably as Yata continued to stare blank eyed.

A silence settled over the two, but Yata wasn’t quite sure if it was awkward. He’d never experienced this before, never been outside of the action or been impassive enough as to analyse a social situation. Why was Saru staring at him? What was he doing wrong… or perhaps it was what he _wasn’t_ doing. What would his middle school-self do? What would he say? How would he act?

Yata had dreamed for so long that their relationship would miraculously revert back to what it had been years ago. He’d idolised the vision so much that he’d left it at just that, a fantasy. He wasn’t sure how to deal with the current situation, and wasn’t sure if he was ready.

Whenever someone was near, he wanted to be alone.

But whenever they took their leave he felt lonely.

He wasn’t even sure what he wanted anymore. Here was the chance of a lifetime to patch things up with Saru, to talk and communicate with one another. To strengthen their relationship and turn it into something even more resilient than before.

But he simply couldn’t.

He couldn’t see a future anymore. Not when the past seemed to weigh down on his every move, every thought.

Yata was vaguely aware of Fushimi calling out his name, squeezing his arm, face full of concern.

_Why are you trying so hard?_ Yata wanted to ask him

_Why do you care so much? I’m not who I used to be. I’ll never be that boy again. I’m not the same person you fell in love with…_

Yata’s throat ached and his eyes burned as tears blurred his vision.

He was shaking uncontrollably, crying without consent, but he didn’t know why. He just felt sad and empty, but he wasn’t even sure if those were the emotions which brought about the tears… or if they were a conditioned response his body had created whenever he started to cry.

It was just too much.

And he was tired.

He just wanted it to end.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * ’That Man’ refers to Niki who was Saruhiko’s father. Saruhiko’s relationship with his parents were really distant so he also referred to his mother as ‘That Woman’.  
> (This is all from Lost Small World-- so I didn’t randomly make it up)  
> Hellooo, and sorry about the super late update!  
> Thanks so much for sticking around and reading my story, I added a little fluff from their (Saruhiko and Misaki’s) past because the entire story was becoming a little heavy for me and this is actually the first full-on depressing story I’ve written. I say this… and then end the chapter on a super low note hehe whoops. (If Misaki seems a little inconsistent with his emotions ,that’s entirely intentional, as he’s still shaken up by the entire experience.  
> ANYWAY, I apologise yet again for grammatical mistakes (I really need to improve on my motivation to proof-read…)
> 
> I am entirely open for suggestions for this story  
> (unlike good writers I have no plan whatsoever) so blast away! (Please I’ve practically run out of ideas… seeing as I wasn’t planning on going past chapter 1)  
> BUT if you’re content with reading the random shit I’ve been pulling together than by all means relax!  
> Whoops. I really didn’t mean to go on for that long… oh well thanks again!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wasn’t a greedy person,  
> all he asked for was the company of an old friend.  
> One person. He wasn’t ready to let go.  
> Pushing someone away was always easier than gently releasing their hand

 

              Kusanagi looked up at the sound of the door jingling open. He smiled wearily as he greeted the familiar face, “Welcome, you look a little tired.” Awashima smiled wirily as she took her usual seat at the bar.

              “You look like you need a drink.” She observed, Kusanagi thumped his chest in mock horror.

              “Is there not enough managerial work in Sceptre 4? Must you now micromanage my duties as a bartender!” he exclaimed.

Awashima raised an eyebrow at his antics, a small smile slipping past her lips despite her attempt to appear unamused. The slight twinkle in Kusanagi’s eye was enough of an indication that he’d caught on.

“But on a more serious note,” spoke the bartender lowering his voice, making Awashima unconsciously lean in closer. “Please don’t ask for another red bean monstrosity.” The blonde narrowed her eyes, slightly annoyed with herself for taking him seriously for a moment.

              “I’ll take my usual then, Salty dog, without the salt (red bean instead), with a piece of rice jelly in the vodka.” Kusanagi winced, still willing himself into accept the strange tastes of Sceptre four. He turned away, busying himself in collecting various utensils and ingredients from behind the bar.

              Awashima felt her heart beat quicken as she prepared herself for the question lying on the tip of her tongue since before she entered Homra. “How’s it going with Yatagarasu?” she asked, trying to keep her tone as light as possible.

Kusanagi stiffened, scooping the red bean paste at an agonisingly slow pace. Awashima bit the bottom of her lip, as she held a breath, mentally reprimanding herself for breaking their easy flowing conversation. It felt like a bit of a waste to jump into the heavy stiff and ruin the calm, light-hearted banter they normally adopt for lazy afternoons. But things had changed, and the Vice-captain of Sceptre 4 was never one to beat around the bush.

              Kusanagi set her glass down making an audible tap against the polished timber. He took a quick breath usually preceding words, and for a moment Awashima thought he wasn’t going to turn around and talk face to face. An aggravated sigh was all that left his lips, before reaching up to grab a bottle of liquor finishing mixing her drink with newfound efficiency.

              Awashima looked down, her teeth loosening their grip on her lips as she let out the breath she had been holding in. She couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed at his outright dismissal of her question. It was the kind of information she’d be willing to share with the man, and his reluctance to speak spoke volumes to Awashima about the one way flow of trust in their relationship. It’s a quite disheartening to learn how much more you care about someone than they think of you.

              Her drink was placed in front of her, Kusanagi’s hand frustratingly smooth with the motion, as if his horrendously rude behaviour of ignoring her question was completely justified and within his own rights.

              “I- I wish I could tell you, that he’s doing well. That despite the awful shit he’s been through, he’s the kinda guy who can bounce back from whatever curve ball life throws in his way. I wish I could say, that he’s surrounded by support and Fushimi’s the kind of person who can really guide him back and retain a sense of normality.” There’s a tremble in Kusanagi’s voice as he speaks, and all resentment Awashima felt towards the man moments ago was immediately engulphed by guilt.

              “I wish I could feel proud with the way I’ve dealt with the whole fucked up situation, but I’m not. A-and Yata’s not alright, and Fushimi isn’t the most mentally stable person out there, and I’m pretty sure I’ve made things worse by egging him on by organising this whole shit of getting revenge on the bastards. Two weeks ago, it seemed like the only way to redeem myself for letting this happen to this, this child whose pretty much under my custody, but now it feels like I’ve nearly made the worst decision in my life. A-and I feel like absolute shit for involving Fushimi even more in this mess.” Kusanagi’s voice was cracking by the end of his tirade, almost as if he were speaking himself, hardly acknowledging the person sitting opposite him.

              Awashima was a little lost, feeling as though a large portion of the troubles going through his mind were yet to be shared in detail with her. It was hard to follow his train of thought without knowing what had already been done. She didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but she didn’t want to press him for more either. It seemed as though Kusanagi had just gotten a whole load off his chest, and nothing was worse than someone blatantly telling them, that not a word was making any sense. It was counter intuitive.

              “So… nothings actually happened yet?” asked Awashima tentatively, Kusanagi looked as though he were about to refute. “I mean, you haven’t acted on revenge yet, without, no wait, with Fushimi.” She continued quickly, digging her nails into the soft flesh of her palm as she silently cringed at her less than eloquent wording.

              “Yeah.” He sighed, sounding extremely old, rubbing his eyes as fingers drifted towards his breast pocket before being forced down the grip the wooden bench. He knew Awashima didn’t approve of cigarettes.

              “I know the circle which is distributing the video… and I roughly know the district they mainly operate in. I’ve been sitting on the information for a couple of days. But… It’s just that, I don’t wanna lose the small amount of trust Fushimi has in me, but I really don’t want to tell him something I’m sure to regret. Yata, Yata may be a little hot-headed… but he’d not vindictive, he isn’t the kinda guy who’d advocate going out with the sole intent of harming. He wouldn’t want Fushimi to get his hands dirty.” Continued Kusanagi, his voice was hoarse as if it pained him to speak, but he spoke as though he wouldn’t’ve been able to stop the words even if he wanted to.

              “I- I just don’t know what to do.” He said softly, finally looking up to meet Awashima’s eyes. She opened her mouth, wanting to speak words of wisdom, wishing to answer the silent plea in his gaze.

              But for once, she didn’t have an answer either.  

 

* * *

 

“Urrgh, it’s so hot!” complained Misaki, fanning himself with enough fevor that Saruhiko suspected the action only served to heat him up even more. The two lay in the grass underneath the meagre shade given by a tree, after Misaki’s mum kicked them out for being too loud. Well, more like _Misaki_ being too loud. They would’ve gone to the arcade, but Misaki was broke and nothing was worse than watching other people play games you couldn’t afford.

It was also around the time of month That Man came home. So naturally Saruhiko’s room was more than out of the question. It would’ve been cooler and Saruhiko wouldn’t feel sticky with sweat or feel his glasses slipping down his nose, but he’d definitely endure worse if it meant avoiding the company That Man brought with him.

The short middle schooler wriggled next to him, tossing and turning in the grass. Saruhiko was too lazy to say anything, despite finding the crackling of dried grass becoming a little irritating. However, after a stray elbow whacked him in the face, enough was enough.

“Misaki! Quit moving around!” he snapped, sitting up as he nursed a bruising cheek bone.

“But it’s so hottt!” whined the other, kicking his legs as he carried out his little tantrum.

“Yes, and moving around like an idiot is definitely making it cooler.” Replied Saruhiko wirily. Misaki grunted irritably, but at least he’d stopped wriggling.

“I wish we could’ve gone to that new pool.” He sighed longingly. Saruhiko looked down at his friend, sliding down to rest on his elbows so he didn’t need to crane his neck.

“Too much bother.” Said Saruhiko dismissively, squinting up through the canopy of leaves. He would’ve taken out his PDA to kill time, but the battery kept on overheating and he didn’t have much charge left.

“It would’ve been so much fun though!” insisted Misaki, stretching his arms above his head. The action caught Saruhiko’s attention out of the corner of his eye, becoming even more distracted by the other’s shit riding up his stomach and exposing his belly button.

Seeing too much of Misaki’s skin always made Saruhiko a little nervous, which proved to be quite a problem in summer as the excitable male seemed to flaunt it to the world unaware of Saruhiko’s discomfort. He dressed like a child, most likely because he still fit in clothes from the children’s section and from his mother’s point of view, a useful economical decision. The only problem was, his summer wardrobe consisted mainly of singlets and shorts both of which were far too revealing in Saruhiko’s opinion. And if Saruhiko himself felt a little out of his comfort zone seeing Misaki in that attire, it made it measurably worse knowing random people on the street also had the opportunity to gaze at his nakedness.

“There’d definitely be girls at the pool.” Pointed out Saruhiko, tearing his gaze away from Misaki’s exposed stomach and to the shorter male’s face. Misaki’s face blushed a satisfyingly deep shade of red, and Saruhiko couldn’t help to keep back the smile tugging at his mouth. It felt good getting back at his friend, and making _him_ feel a little discomfort… not that Misaki was actively causing Saruhiko’s nervousness, but that didn’t matter.

“Yeah, but… well…” began the blushing teen, obviously finding it hard to formulate a sentence. Saruhiko had mixed feelings about how easily flustered Misaki got when it came to girls, he wasn’t quite sure when this phobia had taken hold of his best friend, especially since he seemed to have no qualms playing with his little half-sister. He found it amusing and a little endearing at how easily Misaki would blush and shy away, and he gained an unhealthy amount of satisfaction whenever the shorter male clung to him if Oogai got a little too close.

But then there was the fact that Misaki was overly conscious of them, and that irritated Fushimi to no end. He didn’t want Misaki to be tainted by them, by women. With their false smiles, painted faces and sickly sweet perfume… Just like That Woman, absolutely disgusting.

“Hey… Saru…” murmured Misaki, distracting the other from his homicidal thoughts.

“What?” he asked irritably, the heat shortening is already short fuse.

“What do you think about two guys kissing one another…” mumbled the shorter male quietly. Saruhiko turned his neck so quickly he felt as if a muscle was strained.

Two guys what?

If Misaki’s deeper blush was an indication of anything, Saruhiko was quite sure he hadn’t heard wrong. “I-I mean like, for practise or something…?” said Misaki quickly, looking extremely embarrassed.

“What brought this about?” asked Saruhiko, voicing his thoughts a loud.

“Well, I was on cleaning duty a few days ago and some girls from our class were talking about practising with each other or something so they’d be more experienced when they actually got a boyfriend or something and I wanted to know if that kind of behaviour was normal and _I_ was the one who was being strange or if _they_ were being weird, so I thought I’d ask you and get a second opinion because it’s been messing with me for ages and I’ve had no experience with this kinda stuff…” burst out Misaki, the words tumbling one after the other with no breath in between.

Truth be told Saruhiko hadn’t the foggiest whether or not it was considered normal for friends to snog one another for practise, nor did he have the slightest inclination to care. However, he couldn’t help but feel nervous excitement at the prospect of pressing his lips to Misaki’s.

“Well, what do _you_ think? Would you kiss me?” asked Saruhiko, trying to keep his voice as bored as possible despite feeling as though anyone within a five metre radius could hear his heavily pounding heart. Misaki peered up at his friend nervously, apparently fearful of how his best friend would react to his question.

“Um… I guess, I dunno. I’m a little curious?” he whispered turning an even darker shade of red if possible. “Ahh! This is so embarrassing!” he shouted suddenly, turning away so his back was facing Saruhiko whilst covering his face in his hands. The movement caused his loose shirt to ride even further up his back and Saruhiko found himself captivated by the bones leading up his spine. He leant forwards, suddenly hyper aware of the grass prickling the palms of his hands and the beads of sweat threatening to roll down his forehead.

“Did you wanna try then?” he asked lowly, barely whispering the words. Misaki jumped slightly before quickly sitting upright and crossing his legs so he faced his friend, the sudden movement slightly startling Saruhiko.

“Ok then! Close your eyes and pucker up!” exclaimed the older male, grinning as if this were another of their adventures, the only tell-tale sign of his nervousness was the slight tremor in his hands as he pressed them against his ankles.

“Why would _I_ close my eyes?” frowned Saruhiko, unsure if he was entirely pleased with Misaki’s new found confidence.

“Well, because…” mumbled Misaki as he fidgeted, “I kinda wanted to be the person to kiss you…” the shorter male placed his gaze downwards his brightly coloured hair obscuring his expression. Saruhiko felt his heart flip, again wishing it were possible to somehow bully Misaki into feeling half the ache he felt whenever his best friend said something sweet.

It was unconditional. It was innocent and pure. It was blind.

No one had ever held Saruhiko in such high regard, no one had ever openly praised or expressed amazement and wonder at his skills without an ulterior motive.

Misaki was all he needed.

Saruhiko closed his eyes. “Ok then, go ahead.” He murmured, fearful of his voice cracking if he spoke any louder.

Blocking off one of his senses only served to heighten all others, it was as if all the cicadas decided to chirp with the intent to deafen him, he was hyper aware of the faint breeze rustling his matted hair and cooling his face. He could smell Misaki as the other boy leant in, the sweet smell of Jasmin rice accompanied by the slightly sour smell of sweet. He wouldn’t have though that such a combination would ever appeal to him, but for some reason he wasn’t entirely opposed. It was Misaki, and that somehow made all the difference.

Misaki’s breath ghosted across Saruhiko’s lips as he felt the other boy’s presence. His eyes were closed but his best friend felt impossibly close, physically closer than they’d ever been, closer to his face than any living memory Saruhiko had of anyone. He heard his heart pound in his ears, this time feeling as though it were impossible for Misaki not to notice, especially since they were in such close proximity.

Saruhiko felt his neck sprain as a pair of hands forcefully pushed his shoulders backwards, his eyes opened but he felt and heard before seeing Misaki succumbing to a laughing fit.

“Ahaha, I’m sorry ahh, I knew it. Sorry!” coughed the shorter male, barely managing to speak through his laughter. “I knew it, aww. It’s just too weird! I mean hahaha, we’re two guys right? It doesn’t work that way. Sorry!”

Saruhiko clicked his tongue, more annoyed at himself than anything for allowing himself to get so excited and caught up in the moment.

He wanted to speak out, or push Misaki into the grass and claim the boy’s lips for his own. He wanted more.

But he was too afraid. Too fearful of making a wrong turn and ruining their precious relationship.

Saruhiko wasn’t a selfish kind of person. He didn’t need too many friends or loved ones in his life to function. No. All he needed was Misaki. He wanted more, but he wasn’t about to risk what he already had.

And Misaki’s easy laughter was enough of an assurance that he’d made the right decision this time.

 

* * *

 

Yata stared out his bedroom window, hugging himself to combat the cool air. Sometime during the night he’d pushed off his blanket and had woken up cold, but he couldn’t find the drive to actually unfurl himself and pull the covers back over.

There wasn’t much of a view, once upon a time it would’ve been possible to see the city skyline but ever since the block of land next door got constructed into an apartment block Yata received a beautiful view of satellite discs, corrugated iron and a telephone pole.

Once upon a time Yata liked to watch birds go about their everyday business, cooing to one another and shuffling every so often to let another of their friends join them on the telephone line.

_“You wanna come? Yatagarasu? You feeling good being fucked from both holes?”_

Disgusting. Filthy. Tainted.

That’s what Yata had become, that’s how he saw the world. They’d mocked and ruined everything he’d been proud of, everything he’d stood for, everything he enjoyed. Yata wasn’t sure if it was better or worse that they’d done so much more damage than they’d even intended.

It was easy to blame. To pretend that those men were completely to blame in ruining him. But Yata knew that wasn’t true. Why else did his body react like that? Why else did his body feel pleasure?

Easy. He was already trash.

Yatagarasu. The great crow sent from heaven.

Homra’s vanguard. A guide for his king.

What a joke.

A message alert tone distracted Yata from his thoughts, it took a few seconds for him to realise it was the new PDA Fushimi had bought him. If it were up to him, Yata would’ve turned the bloody thing off but Fushimi insisted he kept it on in case he wanted to contact him. Maybe it was time to get out of bed anyway, he’d actually woken up around sunrise and judging by the busy traffic noises it was probably already rush hour.

 

* * *

 

 

“Saru. Fuck me.” Whispered Yata, his voice hoarse as he loomed over Fushimi.

Fushimi had waited for longer than he cared to remember for this. He had fantasised about various situations and circumstances in which the lively red haired male would initiate sexual advances. Sure, being pinned down by the other pressed against the floor was included in such dreams, feeling nervous, excited and aroused were the main emotions playing on his mind.

It was unfathomable, unthought-of, never in his wildest fantasises had he ever considered feeling fear.

“Misaki-” began Fushimi wearily. What was this? Uneasiness settled in his stomach as he tried to sit up. Sure Yata was able to induce emotions and feelings from Fushimi that nobody else seemed able to provoke… but this was different, every instinct in Fushimi’s body was telling him to run, take flight.

“Fuck me hard.” Spoke the other urgently, lifting his leg over to straddle Fushimi as he trailed a hand down to his friend’s crotch.

This wasn’t right, this wasn’t Misaki _his Misaki._ His best friend would never make him feel this way, he felt comfortable around the other _safe._ Being groped by the other was a thing of dreams, not nightmares. He was supposed to feel elated and aroused, not stricken and fearful.

“Misaki, stop!” snapped Fushimi sharply, sitting up as he grabbed Yata’s hand. Fushimi directed his gaze towards the floor, breathing heavily as he tried to bring his rapid heart-rate under control.

“Why?” whispered Yata, his voice trembling. “Is… is it because I’m not a virgin anymore?” he continued, “I’m damaged goods now, is that it?!” demanded the older male, sniffing loudly.

Shit, he was crying

Fushimi stared at his friend numbly, it was as if there was suddenly too much to process and that his emotions and thoughts were put on hold as his mind struggled to catch up. Only moments ago had he felt threatened by Yata, had he felt defensive in a manner he’d never imagined his friend could make him feel.

But now, Yata was crying and as sadistic and twisted as it was Fushimi felt better about it. This he was used to, this he could handle. It was easier to understand now. It must have been the trauma acting, of course, his friend would never have done that, never have spoken so crudely.

Yes, that’s right it was only the trauma, not Misaki. This was only a stage, part of the healing process… A- a coping mechanism, it must be. Soon, soon his friend would be back to the blushing virgin he was. He wouldn’t change, he wouldn’t change, he wouldn’t change. The person he met all those years ago was still there, he _must be still in there._

Fushimi was used to losing things he cared about, letting go had almost become second nature when things became too difficult. But somehow Yata wasn’t part of that. Somehow letting go wasn’t an option when it came to the other. He’d rather have Misaki be taken from the clutches of his corpse’ fingers than willingly let the other go.

It was fine. Now that he’d cleared it up in his mind… categorising his friend’s strange behaviour, it was no longer unknown. He was certain this sort of behaviour was destructive, and he didn’t want to advocate anything pushing Misaki’s mental instability further along. But he didn’t want to lose his friend’s trust either.

“Saru! At least look at me?” exclaimed Yata his voice cracking in desperation, as he roughly grabbed his friend’s arms.

Fushimi took a shuddering breath, wincing at how weak it made him sound. How could he act as a pillar of strength like this? Steeling his resolve he lifted his chin and confronted the situation. He felt a strain in his chest as he gently wiped tears from Yata’s face. It was the most assertive the shorter male had been since the incident. However his defiance seemed to be just as close to desperation and bordering on insanity.

Yata’s eyes were ablaze with something… but it wasn’t the excitable flame which used to burn so brightly, and it scared Fushimi. Made him fear what it could mean, what is represented, yet again reminding Fushimi how much life had forced Yata to change, and how little remained of the innocent middle-schooler he fell in love with.

Fushimi pulled Yata into a tight embrace, it was supposed to be an action of support, to give strength to his friend. However, Fushimi couldn’t help but feel as if he were clinging onto the other instead. Desperately holding on to the diminishing traits and random pieces which used to somehow coordinated in making up Misaki, making him the most important person in Fushimi’s life. As if holding Yata tight enough would stop his friend from falling apart. Stop him from changing even further.

Fushimi was scared, scared of the person currently in front of him and how little he could do to help. Misaki was always a little violent when it came to things, always relying on brute force as if to prove power despite his short stature. Fushimi was fine with that, it was in his spirit to act rashly. That was who Misaki was. His though processes either 100% correct or completely off the radar.

But not like this. This wasn’t Misaki… not _his Misaki._ This person was acting out of desperation instead of spontaneity, fear instead of passion.

And it scared Fushimi how much this was over his head. How little he could do to stop this other person from taking over, how little he could do to help the person he loved.

“I’ll kill those men.” Whispered Fushimi squeezing the male in his arms a little tighter. Yata shook in his grip, and for a second the taller male thought he was crying again.

“And how would that help?” chuckled the older male humourlessly, “How would that help?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Misaki watched the recording.” Sighed Fushimi. He silently congratulated himself for adopting a quiet manner of speaking, it hid the shake in his voice without arousing suspicion.

The line was silent for a few moments, before Fushimi heard the rustling of fabric. He could almost see the bartender in his minds eye, placing down a polished glass and moving his PDA from the crook of his shoulder so that it was no longer pressed to the side of his face but held securely in his hand.

“How?” asked Kusanagi lamely. Fushimi breathed deeply, feeling himself slide down a little against the wall his back used for support.

“Sent a message with the link to his Jungle account.” Replied Fushimi, unable to stop the tremor reaching his voice this time. He lifted his other hand to brush through his hair, cursing at the way his arm shook. At times like this he mused about taking up smoking, having a habit to try and take the edge off fucked up situations such as this.

That is, until he was reminded of That Man, who smoked like a chimney, drank like a fish and died of cancer. He was better than that. He also thought in times like these, that perhaps That Man was a good example if nothing else, the perfect role model of what to avoid.

“How’s Yata?” came Kusanagi’s subdued voice, pulling him out from his dark thoughts. Fushimi said nothing in reply, he had a loose lid on his emotions and it if a feather could break his calm exterior.

“I- I’ve got the details on the circle’s headquarters.” Continued the bartender after a few moments of silence.

“Do you now…” said Fushimi half to himself. After weeks of sleepless nights hacking every porn website he could find and cracking those uploading Jungle’s sick video. After days of tracking back where the video had been loaded from and sifting through the junk protecting their privacy.

And for what again? He was angry. He was frustrated… and he’d lost sight of the endgame.

“Fushimi? You still there?” asked Kusanagi, “Look, I know you’ve told us that Yata doesn’t want to see anybody but Anna and the rest of us are getting really worried. You can’t take all of this on yourself, we wanna help. Please, Fushimi ju-” Fushimi cut the line halfway through Kusanagi’s sentence.

He knew it was over his head.

He knew Misaki needed more help than he could give.

But he just needed a little more time.

He wasn’t a greedy person, all he asked for was the company of an old friend. One person. He wasn’t ready to let go.

Pushing someone away was always easier than gently releasing their hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thanks to:  
> MisakillDatMonkey, SilverCardinal, passerbyA, Turtle, SilverThunder, HappytheExceed, Sola, YuunKingdom, sushibunny,  
> For helping me with ideas, I feel so loved and supported!!!  
> I’m sorry if the flow of this chapter is a little choppy (to be honest I’m still not very happy with it), but I thought I should just post another chapter otherwise the story would never move HAHAahha. Apologies once more, I hate it when writers update sporadically (ahem me).  
> Thanks so much for the support and encouragement!  
> (Oh, and sorry if there are typos or grammatically incorrect sentences ehee)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neither of them were the same person they were years ago.  
> It took them even longer to realise, there was no point chasing a phantom of their childhood memories, or ask the other to pretend to be someone who didn’t exist anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've edited the previous chapters so it might be a good idea to skim over them again (pls, the hours of my life wasted, rewriting the shit I wrote was painful (still pretty shitty though haha))

“What’s wrong Anna? You’ve been distracted all morning.” Asked Ayumi concernedly. The girl had been zoning out for a large portion of the session, talking even less than normal.

“I’m trying to think of a perfect solution.” Mumbled Anna, sighing a little as she rested her chin against her palm. Ayumi smiled a little.

“We’re doing English Anna, syntax is pretty strict and short of changing the language structure I’m not quite sure problem solving can be applied.” She reminded the girl. Ayumi’s words met silence, but she knew from experience the little King would speak up when she was ready.

“Do you think killing a human is wrong?” murmured Anna. Yumi’s eyes widened in shock.

“Of course it’s wrong! Why, why would… what brought this up?” whispered the other harshly. Her heart rate beating uncomfortably quickly.

“I think... I think it’s wrong too,” She agreed, “But… I’m not sure I share the same opinion with the rest of Homra… Or probably Saruhiko.”

“Anna, what brought this up?” asked Ayumi softly, dread settling at the bottom of her stomach. Make no mistake Ayumi was no stranger to the harsher realities of gang life, behind the romanticised shroud of fire and smoke. The primal pack mentality binding members together and the subsequent need to assert power and dominance over others. Where _murder itself_ was not a sin if properly justified _,_ but simply the act of getting caught was the only issue.

She knew this, but didn’t expect… _hoped_ that Anna was not already conversant to the nature of her group.

              The King regarded Ayumi in surprise, tilting her head slightly.

              “Didn’t you know? Kusanagi found the rapists.” She said evenly.

 

* * *

 

 

              Kamamoto paced backwards and forwards in the street perpendicular to Yata’s flat. A million things running through his mind, none of which actually _leading_ anywhere. He should probably start to move soon, whether that be to finally suck it up and knock on Yata’s door or simply freak out again and abort mission.

Kamamoto let out a pained groan, earning a flinch from an anxious mother hastily ushering her child as close to the side of the street as they could get.

“You should kindly dispose of yourself before someone calls the police.” Came a familiar drawl.

“Fu-fu-fushimi!” squeaked Kamamoto, nervously wringing his hands, “H-hi there.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked bluntly, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Well, I just thought, with everything now that it’s… umm… Now that you know I-ahh. Actually maybe I’ll just-” mumbled the blonde, slowing edging away from the apartment block.

“If you’re here to talk to Misaki, just spit it out already.” Snapped Fushimi annoyed.

“Right, yes I’ll just… uhh really?” asked Kamamoto doubling back as the other’s words sank in. “You’re, not… going to chase me away…?” he confirmed anxiously.

“It’s not, like I own him.” Growled Fushimi, making a face as if it physically pained him to speak the words. A long pause followed, making the already strained conversation even more awkard.

“Right, yes well ok then, c-catch you around?” he stuttered, filling the silence nervous chatter. “I’ll be off and just ahh yeah, I’ll just go do things now.” Kamamoto mentally slapped himself in the face as he not-so-casually fled from Fushimi to the apartment, before the other decided to take back his rare moment of generosity.

 

* * *

 

Awashima paid no heed to the ‘closed’ sign, simply opening the heavy wooden door barely breaking the speed of her pace. It took a few moments for the dark green splotches to clear from her vision, and take in the dimly lit light of the bar.

She caught sight of Kusanagi was slumped on one of the bar stools, his back faced the entrance but he made no effort to greet the intruder.

“It’s strange seeing you on this side of the counter.” Quipped Awashima, confidently striding over to the withered form of Homra’s second in command.

“Bar’s closed if you didn’t read, which you plainly haven’t seeing as your standing here.” Sighed Kusanagi, making a point of not meeting her eyes by squishing his face into the polished wooden surface of the bench.

Awashima grimaced, taking in the mostly empty bottle of whisky drawing a ring of condensation on the bartender’s ‘precious English wood’. She walked away from the slumped form, heels clicking loudly as she rounded the corner to stand behind the bar.

“I rather like standing here, gives me a sense of superiority.” She commented. “Probably why you’re so fond of this position.”

Kusanagi groaned, finally finding it in himself to lift his head, the way his hand quickly came up to support the weight was only one of the many clues to say it was pounding.

“Maybe you should permanently take it then, God knows anyone’s more qualified than me.” He mumbled hollowly, the liqueur causing his words to slur slightly.

“Oh, come on you don’t mean that.” Digressed Awashima, she never would’ve thought Kusanagi would be such a self-pitying drunk. She’d thought about it a lot, much to her dismay, and while she’d fantasised about how the bartender would become flirtatious and darker with an enticing hint of danger. Now that she could see what the _real_ Kusanagi Izumo was like after consuming more than half a bottle of whiskey was like, she couldn’t help but feel a strange sort of fondness. This sad moping excuse of a man was so much more _human_ than she could have ever imagined, and that’s what made it so much more perfect.

“I’m just so ashamed.” He groaned, burrowing his head behind his arms once more. “I was fucking _owned by a middle schooler._ ”

“Oh, come on, Munakata pretty much sorted everything out. And Ayumi had a hand in organising everything as well.” Reminded Awashima, feeling as though she were talking to the _real_ 15 year old.

“But why didn’t _I_ think of locking those bastards up for eternity and throwing away the key? I’ve been agonising over this for weeks and Anna just waltzes in and fixes everything like a glowing red fairy.” He moaned, words slightly muted from being spoken into wood.

Awashima, sighed placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We all know you couldn’t have asked that of Munakata. The Blue King would never have lied to officials so they could lock up these men for life without parole, if you’d have asked him. I think the only reason he _did_ was because Anna reminded him he owed her about the entire ordeal Mikoto.”

“And now you’re my blue angel. Goodness, maybe I have floated to heaven.” Mumbled Kusanagi gazing up at the blonde as he rested his head on his arm.

Awashima chuckled as she strode towards the windows to open the blinds, taking a sick satisfaction in the groans of pain he released when the bright light shone through.

“Well, better wake up buddy because I’m not sure if this is the angel in your dreams.”

 

* * *

 

Yata was sitting under the kotatsu when Fushimi arrived, nursing a steaming cup of tea.

“So, Kamamoto dropped by earlier.” Said Yata conversationally, “He even said you let him in.”

“You don’t have to look at me like that Misaki, I’m a perfectly reasonable adult.” Muttered Fushimi, turning up his nose at the look of impressed amazement etched over his friend’s face.

“Hey, I’m allowed to be proud of my son’s achievements.” Defended Yata.

“Since, when have I been your son?!” demanded Fushimi indignant.

“Since you wouldn’t be eating your greens unless I forced them down your throat.” He retorted.

“Misaki shouldn’t be parenting children taller than him.” sulked Fushimi, settling down opposite the other as he shrugged his coat off.

“Oi, how is my height even relevant here?” exclaimed Misaki, pushing Fushimi’s shoulder in protest.

“You’re height’s always relevant Misaki, otherwise you wouldn’t be so quick to defend the fact that you’re still the height of a middle schooler… a short middle schooler.” Grinned the other crudely.

“You’re impossible.” Muttered Yata, “That didn’t even make sense.”

Fushimi smiled but surprisingly didn’t continue the banter, occupying himself with a couple of pamphlets in his hands. Yata frowned, highly doubting his sullen friend had a bout of generosity and graciously kept the piece of paper instead of tossing it into waste moments after the sales person thrust it into his hands.

Fushimi held out the pamphlets wordlessly. To which the other cautiously took from him.

“A Psychiatrist? Seriously?” choked out Yata in disbelief.

“Awashima suggested some councillors, and I agreed it would be a good idea.” Said Fushimi softly.

“Are you actually asking me to visit a shrink? You know?! The whole thing with the black cushiony chair, and the man with glasses sitting behind a desk asking me how I feel and all that shit?!” exclaimed Yata, searching the tell tales of his friend’s twisted humour. A mocking smile, or patronising tone, he found none.

“You’ve been avoiding your friends.”Fushimi squirmed uncharacteristically, face slightly flushed in embarrassment.

Shit, he was serious. His best friend, who had God knows how many reasons to visit a councillor himself was _seriously asking_ Yata to consider arranging an appointment.

Yata wasn’t sure if this made him feel better or worse. A badly placed joke is easier to forget than a heartfelt request. Was he seriously so far gone that his best-fucking-mentally-unstable-friend seriously thought he wasn’t normal, he needed _help_?

Who was he to say Misaki wasn’t good enough? Who was _he_ to determine what sort of personality he should have? Sure, he might not smile as much or joke around like he used to. He didn’t dream the same dreams, or more specifically wasn’t gullible enough to actually _believe_ in them.

I-it wasn’t like he even liked who he used to be either, for fucks sake he didn’t even make a proper friend (if you could call Saru that) until he was 15. He was always flawed as a person, so what? Now that he didn’t try so hard to hide the imperfections he wasn’t good enough anymore? Wasn’t ‘mentally sound?’

 

“Misaki.” Murmured Saru, reaching out to rest his hand on the other’s shoulder.

“Do you seriously think I’ve gone crazy?” snapped Yata, inwardly flinching at the way Fushimi winced at his tone.

“No, that’s not what I was-”

“Why?” demanded Yata, suddenly overwhelmed with anger. “It’s my fucking life Saru, you don’t get a say in how I act after you fucking upped and _left_ me years ago! It’s my choice if I don’t want to meet everyone at Homra! It’s my fucking choice if I don’t wanna prance around pretending I’m a little ray of sunshine, because I’m _fucking not!”_

“Misaki, if you’d just let me-”

“And don’t you think _you_ should be considering this more than me? I’m not sure if you didn’t get the memo Saru, but you’re pretty fucking, fucked up yourself. Have you maybe considered looking in the _fucking mirror_ before calling the kettle bla-”

“Misaki, if you’d just shut up and _listen to me!_ ” cried Fushimi, voice raw with emotion.

Yata’s breath caught in his throat, unable to speak. Saruhiko rarely raised his voice, Yata _knew_ this and maybe that’s what kept him silent.

“I didn’t mean for you to take offense to this, and I know I’m fucking messed up as a person and I know this is the most fucking hypocritical thing I’ve ever done, because I’m the last-fucking-person who’d arrange to meet with a psychiatrist myself. But I want you to know I’m putting this out there because I _fucking care_ , and maybe I’m already too much of a lost cause but you aren’t Misaki, you mean the world to me, and I know I’ve got a pretty twisted way of showing my feelings. But, who knows, maybe if I had gotten help earlier on when my father died I wouldn’t have become who I am, but I don’t want this to happen to you Misaki. I don’t want you to go through more than you have to, and maybe it’s _because_ I probably needed help for so long that I want you to try this out, if there’s the slightest chance that anything’ll help you in the smallest bit then I’m willing to do it…”

“You don’t know how fucking long it took me to admit I couldn’t help you on my own.” The words gushed from his friend’s mouth, overflowing with emotion bottled up from years of suppression.

The room went silent once more. The absence of noise wasn’t tense like before, but tired. The fatigue of being too high strung for too long.

Fushimi inhaled deeply as if he were about to speak, but no words were uttered.

“Maybe we should book for a couple’s counselling session then.” Sighed Yata, finally breaking the silence. It was crude, more than a little biting than anything Yata would’ve said years ago, but if the curve of Saru’s lip was an indication of anything, it was more than ok.

“Ah, Misaki, I’m not sure if that’s the right word, ‘Couple’s-counselling’ is for newly-weds.” Saru’s voice was sly and teasing, but his eyes took the edge off his words, his expression reminiscent of the rare soft smiles from their childhood.

Neither of them were the same person they were years ago.

It took them even longer to realise, there was no point chasing a phantom of their childhood memories, or ask the other to pretend to be someone who didn’t exist anymore.

Their dreams no longer centred around overthrowing the government or being the first to communicate with extra-terrestrial life forms.

They joked about how they needed to make up for those lost years, and it wasn’t that they’d completely left their small lost world, like them it had also changed, also evolved to accommodate more.

But first they needed to communicate with one another.

They needed to talk.

So they did.

They talked, and forgave, but never truly forgot.

Maybe that's what love means.

To love, and accept regardless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMFG I FINISHED IT, I’M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG (and I reaalllyy hope this chapter wasn’t too choppy after I’d picked it up again hehehe)  
> Thanks so much for sticking with this fic, and I’m sorry if some readers were hoping for a blood bath but my writing skills are waay to shitty to even think about writing something twisted and beautiful at the same time so I went with fluff (and hoped that it wasn’t too shitty).  
> WELL YEAH, I was actually going to make this entire chapter light hearted but I went on a little rollercoaster with that last scene (omg writing in a dark room made me really emotional fml).  
> I apologise again for being the most inconsistent writer who as a reader I loathe *cough, hypocritical much, cough*.  
> Feel free to comment (constructive criticism accepted, I can still edit some parts lel), or simply to clarify anything (I really should go over this chapter again but I’m too lazy and I cringe whenever I read my own shit anyway).

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed (as much as one can enjoy reading about rape) my first smutty fanfic (please excuse any shitty descriptions). I feel like total trash fantasising about my favourite characters being gang raped but... welcome, welcome to the wonderfully twisted world of doujinshi (where I found the inspiration to write this).


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